


before they turn the summer into dust

by soundandfury (supercellbreath)



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Biblical References, Chinguline (EXO), Does Anyone Ever Get Any Sleep In This Fic, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to Depression, Slice of Life, except it's cheating it's Post-Un-Apocalypse, implied/referenced eating disorder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-08-08 15:13:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16431857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supercellbreath/pseuds/soundandfury
Summary: stop KINKSHAMING meif the messiah was a furry and the messiah is the son of god does that mean god is also, a furry,SCREAM [BASS BOOSTED]*yixingstop KINKSHAMING meOh excuse me sorry*does that mean the antichrist Yixing is also, a Furry(One hastily-cancelled apocalypse, and the days  in the lives of its harbingers after.)





	before they turn the summer into dust

**Author's Note:**

> _**TW:** this fic discusses PTSD, with which all four main characters struggle. one of the characters also struggles with an eating disorder. there are references to past periods of plague, war, famine and death. _  
>   
>  title taken from wake up by the arcade fire. self-prompted, for round two of exogeddon 2018.
> 
> THIS IS THE MORE OVERDUE FIC ON FUCKING EARTH BUT [FLINGS IT INTO TRASHCAN] IT'S HERE FOLKS IT'S FUCKING DONE I CAN FINALLY LAY DOWN AND DIE. SORRY @ GEDDON MODS FOR BEING AWFUL TO YALL THANKS FOR PUTTING UP W MY SHIT. its only tangentially in line w the theme anyways bc i copped out and didnt write a Proper Apocalyptic Scenario....is it really post-apocalypse if the end times got cancelled and the world doesn't know the apocalypse actually happened. thank u @ my own Chingus, whose witty banter helped me write So much of these dumbass jokes, and thank u @ the late great legend, sir terry pratchett and the thankfully still alive neil gaiman, whose collab book good omens inspired a lot of my thoughts for this fic.
> 
> if you like listening to songs while u read for mood purposes i suggest, in no particular order:  
> i. **dance to this** by troye sivan ft. ariana grande  
>  ii. **go gina** by sza  
>  iii. **don't take the money** by bleachers  
>  iv. **sundays** by aminé  
>  v. **where this flower blooms** by tyler the creator ft. frank ocean  
>  vi. **in our bedroom after the war** by stars  
>  vii. **dark days** by pup  
>  viii. **i wanna get better** by bleachers
> 
> this is like. 19k* of on-fire slice-of-life garbage which i was wholly unequipped to write about bc i Insisted on including mental illness and ptsd stuff and rushed like a mfer and its filled with weird tonal dissonance and far too many dumb memes and some very very indulgent sappy gayness but i was too far in to stop once i realised it was bad so. Jazzhands. i hope you enjoy. Osteoporosis
> 
> *20k now, don't you just love the magic of editing

“Careful when you walk home tonight,” Kyungsoo says softly, tucking the last can of iced coffee into the tote bag. “The roads are slippery. Watch out for cars, okay?”

“I’m always careful, but thank you,” the girl says, flashing a tired smile as she slings the bag onto her shoulder. The bags under her eyes are worse than usual today, her face sallow and pale. “Same to you, working this late on a Friday.”

“It’s my job, I have to be here,” Kyungsoo jokes, half-hearted. “See you.”

She gives him a wave, popping an earbud back in and shuffling out the door, the soft droning rhythm of the rain outside filtering in as the door opens and leaving with her footsteps. Kyungsoo watches her go, fraying red threads trailing behind her, and sighs. Just two little branches off her fate-string, barely anything more than a one in a thousand chance. It’s fine. She’ll be fine. People have survived with far worse splits.

Still, though. The faint echoes of screeching tires and a half-drowned scream resound in his ears. Rainwater drips down clouded poster-strewn windows, and Kyungsoo can only stare past them at her retreating figure, crossing the street, an anxiety thrumming strong in the hollow of his chest. He can only hope she heeds his words. That’s all he can really do.

**  
**

-

The store he works at closes a little later than most - a mini-mart on the corner of the block, stocking actual fruits and vegetables and frozen meats in between the usual magazines and sugar-loaded junk food - and so Kyungsoo clocks out at a time when he’d much rather be in his pyjamas. It’s an hour to midnight, but you wouldn’t be able to tell, in between the neon signs and rowdy drunks and the endless city lights, blotting the stars and the blackness out of the ashen coffee-stain sky.

Sometimes, looking at mundane life continuing on without a care, Kyungsoo can almost believe that summer was a fever dream - no cold angels with shining blades, no demons trailing blood and chaos; no Death consuming him inside-out, his body nothing but a shell to host a force of existence, his mind half-screaming and half-raptured as his hands snuffed out lives like candles and the weeds wilted in his wake.

He blinks, shakes his head, sighs. Locking up always leaves him too uncomfortably alone with his thoughts. After spending an almost-apocalypse with a Horseman in his head, having his mind to himself still feels so jarringly isolating.

There’s an Audi sitting outside when he steps out the back door, as per usual, the pulse of a booming bass thumping through the gleaming silver chassis, the echo of an ivory string resonating. Kyungsoo sighs and pushes his glasses up his nose, shouldering his bag and locking the door, rattling the handle twice before strolling over and sliding in the passenger side.

A head of fluffy brown hair greets him, messy strands framing a face washed in electric blue and purple highlights, shadows splattered along a long neck and pooling in the folds of his denim jacket, in the hollows between long fingers. “What’s _good_ , shorty,” Chanyeol drawls, popping the collar of his jacket and sliding his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose to wink exaggeratedly, dark eyes glimmering and reflecting the streetlights. Kyungsoo just rolls his eyes good-naturedly, reaching over to flick his arm.

“Not all of us got fed growth hormones as a kid, Yeol. Turn that shit down, will you.”

Chanyeol juts out his lower lip, gesturing at himself even as he reaches to crank the volume down. “Hey, I’ll have you know that this body is a fully organic, free-range, homegrown _snack.”_

“It would be a meal if you had more than a pair of crepes for asscheeks,” Kyungsoo says dryly, leaning over and pinching his side for effect, smirking at the dramatic whine and flail the other lets out. “Let’s get going, I need a shower and some actual food.”

“Food’s already taken care of,” Chanyeol says, jerking a finger towards the back seat. Kyungsoo follows the motion, gaze landing on the neat little stack of takeout boxes in a paper bag, exuding the warm aroma of fried batter and grease.

“What ulterior motive do you have this time,” Kyungsoo says, already reaching over.

“The _ulterior motive_ is my _love and affection!_ Because you’re my bestest bro and I _looooove_ you,” Chanyeol coos, soprano and saccharine, before snorting and shifting back into his regular tenor, “But really, the last passenger took me by our usual takoyaki stall, so. Figured you’d be hungry. And don’t worry, I checked ‘n made sure there were no potential weird diseases.”

“If you’re lying and there’s a spider when I open that box,” Kyungsoo says, in a note of warning,  “we’ll see if I can snip a Horseman’s thread.”

“You don’t believe me,” Chanyeol pouts. “No faith whatsoever. I’m hurt, Do Kyungsoo.”

“Join the club,” Kyungsoo snarks, but pops open the lid to the sight of beautiful, green-topped, white-streaked fried takoyaki, the scent hitting him in a burst. “I cautiously take back my last statement, you’re the best, thank you.”

“I can hardly control spiders anyways,” Chanyeol sulks, doing a poor job of hiding the grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. “They aren’t exactly plague carriers, y’know.”

Kyungsoo squints at him, chopsticks already in hand, already mid-chew of one ball, swallowing it down as he gives a doubtful gaze. “They’re creepy bugs and you love them, doesn’t that qualify them for your magical nightmare horde?”

“I should just kick you out of this car right now,” Chanyeol says. “Calling my babies creepy! This disrespect. In my own house. The _nerve_.”

“But you won’t, ‘cause if you did you’d have to deal with Baekhyun and Jongdae by yourself,” Kyungsoo says, placid as a mountain lake, reaching over to pat Chanyeol’s thigh, words tumbling out of his mouth unconsciously. “Also, because you love me.”

Chanyeol freezes, near imperceptibly. A silent moment passes between them, nothing but the purr of the engine and their hesitant breaths and the sound of Chanyeol’s bone-white string thrumming in sync with a heartbeat in Kyungsoo’s ears.

“Yeah, I do,” Chanyeol heaves a great dramatic sigh, brushing the silence away with a wry grin like water off glass, shifting the gear to bring the car into motion. “Woe be my weary heart.”

-

It sounds like the premise of some cheesy anime plot. War, working in a Starbucks. A burned-out former Harbinger of the Apocalypse, doling out pumpkin spice lattes and chocolate chip frappucinos to humans he once would have destroyed. The irony inherent is too rich for Jongdae to fully grasp, but he laughs at the situation sometimes, out of the sheer hilarity. One summer of feeling souls scream at his fingertips, of playing host to a force of nature, and here he is almost two years later, dying in his courses and brewing coffee around the corner from campus.

Same applies to the others, of course - Plague becoming an Uber driver, Famine working in retail, Death at a convenience store. But there’s a particularly delicious humour to be found in Jongdae’s side, in his own opinion; not so hamfisted as having a job selling guns or something. After all, it is a modern stereotype that people before coffee are most murderous.

And on the other hand, Jongdae thinks to himself, gritting his teeth behind his smile as some middle-aged spray-tanned suburbanite sneers down her stupid sunglasses at him over the counter. On the irony hand, nothing gets him quite as easily into a War headspace as working this damn job.

This is the fifth customer of her ilk today. He looks her in eye and grinds his jaw asking her for her order, punching the numbers into the machine and spelling her name incorrectly with no small amount of vitriol, as her sickly lavender arrogance and entitlement melds with her cloying floral perfume and practically chokes him. Oh it’d be so easy to plant a little anger seed in her head and let her make an absolute fucking disgrace of herself in public, but it’s not worth the trouble. _It’s not worth the trouble,_ he mumbles under his breath, yanking the lever on the coffee machine hard enough to make Jinyoung look over at him in faint alarm. God but it’d be so fucking _satisfying_ -

He scrunches his eyes shut, inhales deep, exhales in a rush, steam fairly hissing out. His head aches, like a goddamn sledgehammer to the frontal lobe. Fuckin’ War.

There’s good things about the job, don’t get him wrong! Being this close to campus means he gets a delightful number of fellow tired students, who usually are the nicest customers. He genuinely likes his coworkers, and his manager Minseok is a fallen angel and also the best boss ever and lets him sneak home the pastries at the end of the day.

And the local supernatural community seems to have deemed this particular Starbucks as The Place To Be, which makes his shifts extra lively and interesting as he’s exposed to the world behind the masquerade bit by bit. Spider girls typing with one pair of limbs and taking notes with another, pretty boys with shimmering scales and siren voices tapping away at their phone screens, old folk with kind smiles and tales of grandchildren and echoes of magic and divinity.

According to Minseok, they mostly come through because of the implicit mediating presence of the staff. When it was just Minseok - who’s already Archangel levels of Don’t Fuck With Me - this Starbucks was protected, but with both him and the former Red Rider of Armageddon behind the counter ready to whoop ass if anyone tries anything, it makes the place a sort of sacred ground. Only those particularly tuned in to their senses know just what Jongdae is, but even low level practitioners and beings get the unconscious sense to respect him.

Jongdae may be just a tired ex-Horseman vessel, but he still has enough of War rattling around in his skull to end a fight. Keep the peace, ironically.

Unfortunately, today Jongdae’s far from a peacekeeper today, running on four hours of sleep and a brain drained tired by lectures and a 4000 word essay, so a bickering couple walking in and burning red with aggravation, snapping at him in between their inconspicuous back-and-forth, is all it takes the little tattered bits of his patience finally snap.

It’s almost comically easy to reach out with his power to the pair of them, broiling masses of pent-up aggression and short tempers and what seems like some _terrific_ trust and communication issues. To reach out and into their hearts, find that dial, and crank it up to eleven.

It barely takes more than a moment. An impulse reaction, and the moment it’s done Jongdae immediately feels the whiplash of guilt and remorse, feeling their aggravation already beginning the boil over. Fuck, that’s _another_ relationship he’s probably fucked up irreparably, he’s the fucking _worst_. He wants nothing more than to take it back, force them to simmer down into calm.

But Jongdae, despite what others may think of him, can’t do peace. War crawled into his head and hollowed it out, carved up his head and his heart, and left him at the reins of a battered machine with the off button smashed to pieces. He can’t turn the people he’s afflicted back down. Only escalation, and stoking the flames, and cutting the leash to let the hounds loose. So he tries not think about the twisting in his gut as he passes them their americano and latte, and crosses his fingers that there won’t be any injuries.

Jongdae’s midway through taking a tired looking businessman’s order when he feels the blaze roar and spike and voices raise in outrage from the corner booth, and like always, against his will the sensation hits better than any drug or high imaginable, his headache abating rapidly, his energy returning. They storm out the door in separate directions, hissing and spitting venom, the man with hot coffee splattered all down his pristine shirt, the woman hurling an expletive and also a semi-empty takeout cup in his direction. Half the cafe’s watching with poorly-disguised raptness, and some kid near the front is recording the whole thing on Snapchat.

He takes the next order with jittery hands and a plastered-on smile. Not even the guilt curdling in his chest keeps his bad mood from subsiding.

**  
**

-

**  
**

“CHANYEOL I’M GONNA FUCKIN’ KILL YOU,” comes the glorious call welcoming Chanyeol back home after a long day of lectures and gym time.  
  
“You’re not Kyungsoo, you don’t get that privilege,” Chanyeol calls back, toeing off his sneakers, casting his Plague-senses across the apartment and searching - yeah, there it is, the cockroaches pulled off a jailbreak into the living room. This is the third time in as many weeks. Yeah, the shop lady and all of the pet sites told him they’re master escape artists, but really, he’s gotta look into getting a more secure tank for ‘em, this is getting a little ridiculous.  
  
“WELL I’LL FUCKIN’ GET YOU READY FOR HIM IF YOU DON’T GET YOUR FUCKIN’ BUGS BITCH.”  
  
Though the sight of Baekhyun cowering on the couch as his babies wander innocently about on the floor is absolute gold. He lets out a hilariously high-pitched expletive in Korean as Vivaldi scurries in his general direction to disappear under the couch, and lets out another colorful swear as Chanyeol fails to disguise his snickering.  
  
“These aren’t even the usual, you know, these are my Madagascars,” Chanyeol chirps, crouching down and reaching out, retracting his hand with one wriggly fat bug in hand and giving her a little smooch. Vivaldi’s getting heavier by the day, she'll be laying her babies soon. “They’re good bugs. It don't bite."  
  
“ _YES IT DO_ ,” bellows Baekhyun back. “STOP TRYING TO MAKE VINE REFERENCES WHILE I'M IN MORTAL PERIL.”  
  
"Alright, alright, no need to yell" Chanyeol says, reaching out and _calling_ , his bugs ambling back over from their corners into his waiting grasp 'til he's got an armful of cute little hissy roaches. "Mortal peril's a biiiig stretch though. I should just leave a few in your room, call it exposure therapy. Give it a week and you'd be calling 'em cute!"  
  
"The day I do that is the day my sanity has withered away," Baekhyun mutters, loosening a little, gingerly stepping down from his perch. "God, you know, I was just lying on the fuckin' floor - _as one does_ , quit your laughin’ - and I felt something skitter over my god damn leg and I nearly jumped through the fucking ceiling."  
  
"They like you," Chanyeol says, amused, extending his arms out a little and giggling at the face of utter horror Baekhyun makes. "You know, as Famine you should have some bug powers too, I know it works on locusts. You could probably tell 'em to go back in the tank and they'd listen perfectly fine."  
  
"If I ever so much as touched a bug with any part of me - _especially_ my mind - I would scream," Baekhyun says, with utter seriousness. "And then I would die inside."  
  
"Aren't you already dead inside-"  
  
"It's the principle of the thing, Yeol," Baekhyun huffs. "Stop standing there and go put them away, ye gods.”  
  
"Oh I will, but you should come into my room 'n watch," Chanyeol says, absentmindedly petting a roach.  
  
Baekhyun looks at him, incredulous. Chanyeol has the biggest room in the apartment, mainly due to the fact that his incredible variety of interests take up a lot of floorspace. Next to his bed is his keyboard setup and his snowboard and his guitar, and next to those he has a tank of hissing cockroaches, a tank of _regular_ cockroaches, two different ant colonies, a little terrarium with a tarantula named Tchaikovsky, a container of mealworms, and a tank of _fucking locusts_ , because of course he does. The lone saving grace to the creepy crawly horror of the room is the pair of rats he keeps, aptly named Amadeus and Wolfgang. "And why on earth would I want to do that."  
  
"Because if you don't see 'em go in the tank, how do you know they're all in the tank." Chanyeol says, with the beatific smile of a man high on life, jostling the mass of bug in his arms and getting a chorus of inhuman maraca-like noise for effect. "Schrodinger's Hissing Cockroaches."  
  
Baekhyun’s expression has settled into grim resignation. "God I hate you." He falls into step after Chanyeol begins walking down the corridor. Chanyeol would pump his fist if his arms weren’t full of bug, but he settles for leaning over and striking with a surprise smooch to Baekhyun’s ear, to which there’s only a marginal amount of complainy noise.

“I’m so proud of you, facing your fears-”

“Forcing me. Forcing me to face my fears, this is dubious consent at best, asshole.”

“You still said yes~” Chanyeol sings. “Hey, if it makes you feel better you can even pet Wolfgang, since you’re being so brave!”

“It’s cute that you think I’m not gonna run out the moment you close the lid.”

 

**-**

 

 

**FURRIES 4 FURRIES INTERNATIONAL**

 

**KINKSHAMING IS MY KINK**

2 things

1 we need some milk

2 why do we call horsemen horsemen? only dudes get to bring on the apocalypse smh wheres some fucking gender neutrality in this bitch

 

**stop KINKSHAMING me**

ur absolutely right thats bullshit

 

**Do Kyungsoo**

You do realise the point is moot since we’re all men right

Also we also have the White/Black/Red/Pale Rider titles already those are plenty gender neutral

 

**KINKSHAMING IS MY KINK**

:/ rude but. perhaps u made several points

 

**stop KINKSHAMING me**

how DARE you call me a man you KNOW im a gay

 

**Do Kyungsoo**

You’re a man who is also a gay chanyeol these aren’t separate venn diagram bubbles

 

**stop KINKSHAMING me**

Theyre not separate venn diagram bubbles theyre levels on the scale of Raw Power

man <<< aberration in the eyes of heaven < gays see its SCIENCe

 

**Do Kyungsoo**

Bold of you to assume i know what science even is

 

**SCREAM [BASS BOOSTED]**

ill get the milk on my way back baek

also can we please change the gc name minseok keeps seeing the notif on my phone

“169 unread messages from FURRIES 4 FURRIES INTERNATIONAL”

with every passing day we stray farther from god’s light

 

**KINKSHAMING IS MY KINK**

thank u jongdae ur the only bitch in this house i ever respected

 

**stop KINKSHAMING me**

But how do you know minseok isnt a furry too how do you know he doesnt secretly long to bear his membership badge proudly declare to the world that he thinks boys with cat ears are hot

 

**SCREAM [BASS BOOSTED]**

HES MARRIED WITH TWO KIDS AND A WIFE. HE LITERALLY FELL FROM HEAVEN FOR THEM.

love u too baek uwu

 

**KINKSHAMING IS MY KINK**

uwu

 

**stop KINKSHAMING me**

THAT DOESNT PROVE ANYTHING HOW U KNOW THEY DIDNT CONCEIVE THEIR KIDS IN FURSUITS HOW DO YOU KNOW HE DIDNT FALL FOR THE FURRY

 

**SCREAM [BASS BOOSTED]**

LKH;KLH;HL;JLKJ;LKJLK;J LK FUCK YOU I AM AT WORK U FUCKING DEMON I HAVE TO LOOK HIM IN THE EYE AFTER UVE SAID THIS AND PRETEND LIKE IM NOT DISSOCIATING INTO THE VOID

 

**stop KINKSHAMING me**

THEY HATED JESUS BECAUSE HE SPOKE THE TRUTH

 

**KINKSHAMING IS MY KINK**

jesus was a furry 2k18

 

**SCREAM [BASS BOOSTED]**

SDFKLSFLKJSFLKJFLJK BYUN SHUT THE UFCKG UP

 

**stop KINKSHAMING me**

if the messiah was a furry and the messiah is the son of god does that mean god is also, a furry,

 

**SCREAM [BASS BOOSTED]**

*yixing

 

**stop KINKSHAMING me**

Oh excuse me sorry

*does that mean the antichrist Yixing is also, a Furry

 

**KINKSHAMING IS MY KINK**

revelations 6:9 and when he had opened the fifth seal, i saw under the altar the souls of them that were slain for the word of god, and for the testimony which they held,

“jesus…….was into anthros”

 

**SCREAM [BASS BOOSTED]**

JKLSDFJLK;FSD;LKJF;JLKFSDLKJ;SFD;JLKSFJ;KLFSJL;K

NO THIS FUCKGINGNG BLASPHMSEHY

 

**stop KINKSHAMING me**

HJKSAJKAJKLFDLKSJKL oh so we goin to HELL hell

 

**SCREAM [BASS BOOSTED]**

@GOD IMA GOOD CATHOLIC SON I S WEAR

 

**KINKSHAMING IS MY KINK**

ITS TOO LATE FOR YOU NOW JONGDAE ONLY THE INFERNO

FURRIES ANTHROS AND INANIMATE OBJECT GIJINKAS: THE FATHER SON AND THE HOLY GHOST

 

**SCREAM [BASS BOOSTED]**

CURSED THIS IS SO CURSED

 

**Do Kyungsoo**

My levcture is startign can you all hshut up

Stop desecrtaing the holy book imt tyrying to get  eductaion

 

**stop KINKSHAMING me**

sooyah theres a mute button function

 

**Do Kyungsoo**

Whats a mute btton

 

**KINKSHAMING IS MY KINK**

:( but dont you want to hear the good word of the lord kyungja

 

**Do Kyungsoo**

Baekhyun I will take a pair of bolt cutters to your string so help me God

 

**stop KINKSHAMING me**

*yixing

 

**SCREAM [BASS BOOSTED]**

*yixing

 

**KINKSHAMING IS MY KINK**

*yixing

 

**Do Kyungsoo**

Someday. I’ll kill you all someday

 

-

 

  
Chanyeol nearly fucking screams when he turns around to see a figure in all black in the kitchen doorway. Then he blinks and takes in the rumpled hoodie, the mussed up brunette locks, the gaunt cheekbones, the faintest sense of iron.  
  
"Oh my god I nearly had a heart attack," Chanyeol wheezes, hand clutched over his heart, slowly getting back up from his hunched over position.  
  
"Nice to see you too, Yeol-ah," Jongdae murmurs back, shuffling over. "You can't sleep too?"  
  
"My regularly scheduled Wednesday 3AM nightmare told me it was time to get up," Chanyeol says, feeling fatigue and cheer both rumble in the hollow of his chest with the itch burning under his skin. The memory of the booming of a billion locusts, descending on rolling fields like fire to dry bush. Waking up and feeling his own lovely little tank of locusts a few feet away somehow hadn’t helped. "It was one of the nicer ones this time, so y'know, small mercies."  
  
"Hah. You got lucky tonight." Jongdae gives a tired laugh, shuffling in a little closer. "Woke up biting through my cheek because I relived the Crusades. Don't you just love our Horseman-induced sleeping problems?"  
  
"Can't imagine life without 'em," Chanyeol hums, wistful, easily tucking Jongdae into his side with one arm. "Just love getting woken up by my crippling PTSD flashbacks, y'know?"  
  
"God what a mood," Jongdae mutters, head flopping onto Chanyeol’s shoulder, a comfortable weight. "Whatcha making?"  
  
"Hot Milo," Chanyeol hums, tipping his head at his simmering pot of milk on the stove, and the green tin of malted chocolate mix on the counter. "I was gonna make extra and leave it in the fridge. Want me to pour you a cup too?"  
  
"Please," Jongdae says, with great feeling. "This night is already looking up."  
  
"Baek 'n Soo 're missing out, with their full night's sleep," Chanyeol jokes.  
  
Jongdae laughs back, soft and hoarse. "They can have it cold tomorrow morning while we feast like kings now."  
  
“You’re absolutely right,” Chanyeol says, mock-solemn, squinting at the bubbles beginning to pop up and reaching for the tin. “One man’s seven hours of sleep is another man’s 3AM party, ‘n all that.”  
  
“Yes, that’s absolutely a thing that people actually say and not something you just made up,” Jongdae nuzzles in further as he speaks, tucking one hand under Chanyeol’s hoodie to rub little circles into bare hip.  
  
"Yep. Copyright me. _War ‘n Plague in the kitchen making Milo in the mo-orning_ ,” Chanyeol sings, tipping in enough Milo to choke the milk and stirring the pot into what looks like increasingly like a section of incredibly muddy riverbed.  
  
“Is that a meme I’m not getting?” There’s an audible pout in Jongdae’s voice, even if Chanyeol’s not looking at him.  
  
“TV show joke, don’t worry about it,” Chanyeol soothes, pressing a little kiss to Jongdae’s head. “Not that you’re exactly on the meme cutting edge, though.”  
  
“Hey, I can do the Fortnite dances, don't be a prick,” Jongdae grumbles. “And why’m I taking flak from you, filthy netizen.”  
  
“I live and breathe cyberspace, dinosaur,” Chanyeol says loftily, nudging his hips to give Jongdae a teasing bump. “We are the future, submit.”  
  
“Too early in the morning for this disrespect,” Jongdae mumbles, half-laughing. They lapse into a comfortable silence for a while, only the gentle sloshing noise of stirring, the faint hiss of hot air, their soft breaths as they lean into other.  
  
"It’s still like a dream, you know?” Jongdae says, softly breaking the silence, failing to be nonchalant. “Like a daymare. Like I was sleepwalking through the end of days.” Chanyeol makes a gentle wordless noise in assent, giving a little nod, patting Jongdae as he musters up breath. "Sometimes I feel more like War than a person. Like whoever I was before that summer died when War came in burned them out, and I'm just. Their nuclear shadow. Horseman wearing Jongdae skin, left in the sun too long, melted into one lumpy grim mess."  
  
Chanyeol gives him a gentle poke in the side, tucking him in a little tighter. "I mean, I think you're pretty properly Jongdae-shaped all outside and inside, if that makes you feel a little better. The others would agree. 'Cept for Baek, he'd just talk about your ass being right-shaped, but y'know."  
  
"Thanks," Jongdae snorts softly. "I get so. So angry, and irritated, and tired, and some days I look out the window at crowds and think about how easy it would be to start a riot. How good it would feel to make two strangers fight for no reason at all. Like a stress reliever. A pick-me-up. And then I feel horrible for thinking about it, but." Jongdae lets out a shuttered sigh. "You know how it feels, yeah? Using powers?"  
  
"Yeah," Chanyeol says, somber, thinking of rats scurrying through rafters, all manner of bug crawling through concrete cracked-channels, walking by schools and feeling the masses of flus and pathogens just biding their time for the feeblest link. Reaching out unseen and feeling an infestation root and spread, an immune system buckle, a wound fester and seethe, the secondhand heat of fever calming his own jitters and aches and dripping guilt into his heart. "Like opening the lid off a bottle to let out the pressure."  
  
"Like the easiest thing in the world," Jongdae gives a strangled noise, shuddering, and Chanyeol moves at once to bundle him into his arms in full, words spilling out muffled into his chest. "Like fucking breathing."  
  
"Mm." Chanyeol hums, presses a kiss to dark hair. Honestly, it really is worst for Jongdae. He can give himself a little leeway with his bugs, and Baekhyun and Kyungsoo get out just walking around the neighbourhood. But Jongdae - Jongdae has to mess with people, has to bring forth human conflict to work out all that he bottles up. Their good sweet saint of a church boy, their War. It's like the universe just doles out fates on pure malice and irony. "You already do so much every day just holding it in, you don't have to beat yourself up over taking care of yourself a little."  
  
"Taking care of myself means hurting others," Jongdae mutters. "Making strangers fight. People with bruises and black eyes. Barfights. Crying. Fuckin’ domestic violence, Yeol."  
  
Wow, damn, that is pretty fucked. "Mm. That’s….that’s grim. But you can’t account for every possible outcome, man. And the alternative is you just slowly unravelling until you explode, which no one wants.” Chanyeol racks his brain. ”Don’t you get a sense of the personalities of the people you hulk up?"

The way he scrunches up his nose when he frowns is pretty damn cute and kissable and also pretty damn distracting from the heaviness of this conversation. “...Yeah, I do.”

“And don’t you try to avoid sparking up people with those sorts of abusive tendencies?”

“...I try,” Jongdae mutters. “But sometimes. I just do it without thinking, and sometimes, even with the worst fuckers, I just want to. So badly.”

“But you don't. You do act carelessly on some occasions, and yeah, people get hurt because of it-” Chanyeol peels himself away for a moment, flicking off the heat and taking the pot off the stove, grabbing two mugs from the counter and ladling the thick sweet drink into each. “But you do your best to let it out safely and sanely, and you fight against your worse instincts to do so every day of your life. And you've probably helped more people than you think, y’know. Conflict brings things out in the open. If a couple broke up just because you of all people prodded them into an argument they wouldn't have lasted much longer anyways.  Relationships come and go for worse reasons than fights, Dae."  
  
When he turns to look, the shadows on the other's face look a little less heavy, a more upturned twist pulling at his lips. "....Stop making sense, you're ruining my brooding," Jongdae mumbles. Chanyeol will count this as a win.  
  
"This is a no brooding zone, only healthy emotional growth allowed," Chanyeol intones, passing Jongdae's mug into his waiting hands, fingers grazing each other. "Doing what you do isn't the end of the world. That happened already, and we all came out....eh, mostly intact. So y'know, I think in the long run it’ll be alright if you carefully piss some people off."  
  
Jongdae laughs, hands curled around the ceramic cutely. "You're a real therapist at this hour, huh."  
  
"Among my many gifts," Chanyeol sketches out a little bow, and is rewarded with another hoarse laugh. “3AM is the greatest time to air out these things, am I right?”  
  
“You’re not wrong,” Jongdae smiles crookedly, expression fading a little as he looks away. "What about you, though, Yeollie?"  
  
Chanyeol blinks. "About me what?"  
  
"How d'you feel about. 'Bout Plague. I mean," Jongdae reaches over gently with one hand, slipping it into his. His palm's warm from the mug, soft and magnolia-scented and just a tad greasy from that hand cream he likes. "You're always there for us, but we never get to be there for you. Don't think I haven't noticed."  
  
"Noticed what?" Chanyeol creaks. Jongdae traces a little meandering spiral into Chanyeol's hand with his thumb, looks up at him with sanguine eyes.  
  
"Yeollie. I have very handy emotion powers. And you are a _terrible liar._ " He laughs, soft. "All those midnight drives and gaming marathons and gym sessions and bug caring. Every time you've locked the door."  
  
God, why does Chanyeol try to hide anything from the actual empath. "It's fine, really," he says, with as much sincerity as he can muster while his heart is running cross-country in his chest. "We've all got coping mechanisms, it just. Happens to be mine."  
  
"I know we do, I'm guilty of the worst one," Jongdae comes in a little closer, tucks his head against Chanyeol's shoulder. "But it's a little hypocritical how you're always pep talking us, but you never let us in?"

Chanyeol looks down and mumbles, like the absolute coward he is. "Feels bad bothering 'nyone-"  
  
"That's bullshit and you know it," Jongdae says simply, squeezes his hand. "I'm not going to push or anything. But we're here, okay? If you ever need to talk about stuff. As you like to tell us, it's good to talk about it sometimes."

"...I'll try," Chanyeol exhales, slumps, gives a tiny smile. "How the tables have tabled."

"In-fucking-deed," Jongdae hums. "So, got any deep rooted anxieties and fears you'd like to share, Yeollie?"

"I mean, sometimes I worry about the bugs breaking out of their tanks and swarming my room, but y'know, that's about usual."

Jongdae snorts. "Cop-out. We can get deeper than that. If the afterthoughts you get from Plague are anything like what War does to me -" he stops for a second, inhales, curls his fingers back round the mug. "God, look at me talking about myself again. Like just. It's. When I get that urge I'm - not to dwell on that summer, but it just feels like when. When War was in my body wandering the world being a fuckin' prick."  

He takes a sip of his Milo gingerly, leans into Chanyeol, eyes dark. “It wasn’t me, but it wasn’t. Not me. Like, in the back of my head, my brain saw what War was doing and. God, it. I _wanted_ it. Some part of me wanted it, and wants it now, and probably s' gonna want it forever. I think I still would have that desire even if War didn’t melt into my brain. That capacity....that’s the scariest fucking thing of all. You know?” The expression on his face is identical to the one Chanyeol sees in the mirror every morning, and he squeezes the smaller boy comfortingly.

“Yeah." The heat of the summer in his bones. Pestilence singing with his voice, his mouth. Disease and maladies and chitin itching under his skin, watching cities fall apart at the seams and blood rushing giddy through his heart, dancing to double time.

Chanyeol lifts the mug to his lips, lets warmth flow past his tongue, sweetness in his throat, iron in his mouth. Swallows. “Yeah, I know that feeling.”

 

-

 

It’s been a long week for all of them. Jongdae’s been subjected to some especially nasty customers, Chanyeol’s had to cram a group project with one groupmate out with the flu and the other just utterly useless, Baekhyun’s just been on a downspiral with good old Bad Feels. Kyungsoo, when asked why he was frying his bad mood scrambled eggs at midnight, had just pressed his lips together and stayed mute. So naturally, that Saturday night, there’s some unspoken mutual consensus between them all to crack open the fridge and get out the Tiger beer.

Perhaps it’s not the best coping mechanism, getting drunk off your ass in order to talk about your horrible traumatic experiences under a will not your own, but at least they’re doing it together. Really, it’s one of their most uniting bonding activities. Nothing like gallows humour to lighten the mood.

“Lessee…..” Baekhyun drawls, ice cubes clinking in his glass as he swirls his drink with one hand, his entire face glowing scarlet. They’re barely three rounds in. “Mine took a nice stroll through the Japanese countryside, made every crop inna hundred-mile radius spontaneously wilt. Turned it into a big ol’ valley of dead land and yellin’ farmers.”

“ _Noooo_ , no, I can do you one better,” Jongdae slurs, waving an arm about for emphasis, cheeks barely dusted with a light flush, eyes droopy and voice thick with his Estuary accent, “ _Mine_ wandered into a church in Russia ‘n reenacted the brawl from the first Kingsman movie. Violent murder ‘n all.”

Chanyeol, propped up next to him on the couch, rolls his eyes and snorts, the only sign of the alcohol in his system the rosy hue of his ears. “Please, mine went ‘n sicced chickenpox and shingles on every city down the West Coast of the US. Taught ‘em a lesson on not vaccinatin’ their damn kids.”

An “I HEART SLEEP” mug lands with a soft, decisive thud on the coffee table. “Hospital visiting,” Kyungsoo says, deadpan, with barely a hint of drunkenness in his tone. “Vietnam. Paediatric oncology ward.” They all wince at the weight of the statement, the other three raising their glasses and mugs and drinking their beer.

“ _Unfair_ advantage,” Baekhyun sulks, pouting, blinking unevenly, Adam’s apple bobbing. “Rest of us got sweet ol’ Famine ‘n Plague ‘n War. _You_ got Mister Rides-On-A-Pale-Horse, s’impossible t’one-up you.”

“You have won before,” Kyungsoo says mildly. “And I don’t think winning is really the ideal outcome in this game.”

“Well I’d know that for _myself_ if you ever let me _win_ more than _once_ ,” Baekhyun whines.

“That’s rough, buddy,” Chanyeol quips, and with that as the trigger they all dissolve into inebriated hysterics, in a circle on their living room floor, warm and aching and alive.

“S’not even _funny ‘_ Yeol you ass, stop _laughin’_ at meeeee,” Baekhyun manages to howl in between his hiccupy giggles. “Fuckin’ _hate_ y’all, so mean to y’r hyung,”

“We’re all same-age friends, _Baekhyunnie_ ,” Chanyeol says, with a note of great patience and mockery. “No elder privileges for you. Take our insults and _appreciate_ them.”

“Fuckin’ brat, you can appreciate my fist in your _gut_ ,” Baekhyun says, putting down his drink and swaying for a moment before pouncing, to the sound of Chanyeol’s shrieks.

“M’kay, m’kay,” Jongdae wheezes. “If Baek’s gonna be so weepy o'er this, let’s change the game. Truth o’ Dare? Two Truths an’ a Lie?”

“Make it Truth or Smooch,” Chanyeol suggests, wiggling his eyebrows, fending off Baekhyun with two hands and a knee in the solar plexus. “Person spins the bottle, and if it lands on you you have to answer their question or. Y’gotta. _Kiss’em_.”

“So it is true,” Kyungsoo says, with a note of wonder, “you _do_ have good ideas sometimes.” Chanyeol squawks, nearly toppling off the couch as he attempts to reach over and smack Kyungsoo’s pleased grin off his face, thwarted by Baekhyun falling over him and immediately jabbing pointy fingers into his sides. Jongdae, perched on the couch and untouched, merely cackles himself into another wheezing fit.

Hands wriggle down and around Chanyeol. “Bro, have I ev’r tol’ you,” Baekhyun mutters, patting absentmindedly, “tha’ you got a nice ass,”

Chanyeol blinks hazily. “No….?”

“If he did, it would be a lie,” Jongdae chimes in, sparking another round of giggling and a squawk of “hey, fuck off!” from Chanyeol.

“Heeeey, hey,” Baekhyun says, pointing at Jongdae with one waggling finger several degrees off target. “Nice ass-hav’rs in this horseman club are Kyungja ‘n me ‘n you. But Yeollie,” he coos, turning back and bringing two hands up to smoosh Chanyeol’s ruddy cheeks together, “y’ can’t let havin’ a concave ass keep you from ya dreams! Issa pancake ass, issa _crepe_ ass, but I’d still eat it!”  
  
“Same,” Kyungsoo concurs, with great solemnity. Chanyeol makes a sound like a dying whale, which only caused the others distress the first two times they heard it before they realised it was his hysterical laughter.  
  
“We’re gunna send ‘im inta cardiac arrest,” Jongdae chortles, putting his mug down and sliding off the couch. He knee-walks over to hook a hand into the back of Baekhyun’s shirt, tugging him back until he flops backwards onto the couch next to Jongdae, “Cool it, Casanovas, let ‘im breathe.”  
  
“Would a heart attack count under Yeol’s domain or mine,”  Kyungsoo asks out loud, staring at the ceiling in deep thought. "'Cause it's spontaneous death, but it usually comes 'cause of heart disease or somethin'."  
  
“Not a pathogen, not my problem,” Chanyeol sings, still raspy from his laughing fit. "Your domain's really broad though, man. Don't you basically ov'rlap into all of ours?"  
  
Kyungsoo nods, blinking slowly, glasses askew on his face and his expression one of enlightenment. "You all bow before me. Maknae privilege."    
  
Jongdae fucking loses it. Baekhyun's just a wheezing mass puddled into his side. Chanyeol has enough sense in him to make sure they're not knocking over any glasses in their hysterics.  
  
They pick up the drinking game again and manage to go a few rounds more before they're all entirely wasted - or at least, until Jongdae and Baekhyun are. With the pair of lightweights giggling and piled together on one couch, Kyungsoo and Chanyeol gather up all of the glasses and totter carefully over to the kitchen to put them away, to be dealt with by tomorrow's hungover selves. Which leaves Jongdae and Baekhyun alone together.

“This’s been a good night, wouldn’tcha say,” Jongdae says, words teetering on the edge of unintelligible, lips curled up at the corners. "Crackin' open a cold one with the boys."

“And tomorrow’s gunna be fuckin’ terrible,” Baekhyun concurs. You’d think tomorrow being a Sunday would be a good thing, but no, Baekhyun’s got the morning shift tomorrow, and he’s going to absolutely die trying to work retail with his sure-to-be monster hangover. Future Baekhyun is already cursing his name, he knows, but that’s nothing new, so Present Baekhyun will point and laugh at his impending doom all he wants. 

“Gotta dis’gree,” Jongdae murmurs into his ear, tone slipping lowly into teasing, which does predictably unspeakable things to Baekhyun’s dick. “M’ gunna sleep ‘til two ‘n order takeout.”

“Aw, shut the fuck up,” Baekhyun complains, shoving at Jongdae and completely missing, despite being literally right next to him. Let it not be said that Drunk Baekhyun has any semblance of coordination whatsoever. “M’ gonna curse ya name, I hope you hit y’r knee on th’ coffee table again, asshat.”

“An’ if I do?” Jongdae pouts - something croons in the back of Baekhyun’s head, tingles on his tongue. “Will you kiss it better?”

Baekhyun turns and stares, blinking slowly at tousled dark hair and flushed cheeks and half-lidded eyes. If he had more than half a braincell at this point, he might have dipped into their usual flirtatious banter, but unfortunately right now he has an IQ of 0 and a combined GQ (Gay) and DQ (Disaster) of 400. “Uh.”

"Oiii. Answer meeee," Jongdae slurs softly, eyes blown wide and dark. "Baekhyunnie, m'lips huuurt."  
  
The inside of his brain is showing the mental equivalent of an error screen. Hunger perks up in the hollow of his chest, stirring confusedly. "Uh. I’ll. Get the medkit?"  
  
An aggravated sigh. “Fucken’ hell,” Jongdae huffs, eyebrows knitting together, the very picture of a whiny twink. "M' tryin' to be _smooth_ , y’twat-" and without further fanfare, flops forward to plant his lips on Baekhyun's.  
  
It's sloppy and uncoordinated and an utter mess. Jongdae’s sticky and sweaty and tastes of shitty beer and salt and iron, his hair’s tangled dark and wild and his glass-cut cheekbones stained ruddy and blotched with Asian glow, and in that moment he’s the most irresistible force in the world. Helen of Troy launched a thousand ships, Adonis brought the goddesses to bitter feuding: it's only fitting then, that Jongdae has such sanguine black-hole gravity in his eyes, that the mere curl of his lips could bring nations to ruin. Lord knows Baekhyun doesn’t stand a fucking chance.

Jongdae moans softly against his lips, a goddamn melody, sweet and rich and molasses-thick like you could drown in it, fucking singing with his desire. Hunger croons in his ears, scratching lines down his ribcage with the urge to devour, and Baekhyun’s far too gone to do anything less. So with a gentle sigh, Baekhyun tilts his head for better access, tucks his hands into the waistband of Jongdae’s sweatpants, and kisses back.

 

  
There’s a quiet beat of silence as the other two stand in the entryway, taking in the sight of Baekhyun's lips locked with Jongdae's.  
  
"Soo, did we have a bet going for them getting together or anything?" Chanyeol asks.  
  
"Nope," Kyungsoo says, eyes not moving away from the pair on the couch. The noises are starting to verge into obscene, even with all their clothes on, although that doesn’t seem to be stopping Baekhyun’s hands with how deep they’re in Jongdae’s pants.

"Shame," Chanyeol says. “You think they’re gonna remember this tomorrow?”

“Strongly doubt it.”

"You think we should put 'em to bed or anything or."  
  
"I think they're grown-ass adults, perfectly fine on their own an' I'm way too drunk to be hauling their asses across this apartment." Kyungsoo says, slipping his hand into Chanyeol's. "Let's not ruin the moment. Crash in my bed for tonight?"  
  
Chanyeol, predictably, lights up. “Sure,” he chirps, and they wander off down the hall, leaving Baekhyun and Jongdae to make out until they both pass out, entwined together on the couch, drool pooling against Jongdae’s neck from Baekhyun’s slack mouth and Jongdae’s hands clinging all the way up the back of Baekhyun’s hoodie. It’s the best night of sleep all of them have for a while.

They don’t really talk about it the next morning, because a) Baekhyun wakes up before Jongdae and has no time to worry about their sexual tension while he’s fighting his splitting headache and scrambling to get to work and b) they’re both Cowards, but from then on there’s a lot more hand-holding and tender cuddling between the two, and if there’s surreptitious makeouts from time to time no one’s gotta know except them.

 

-

 

Kyungsoo's never really liked crowds on the whole, always preferring quiet and calm over the riotous hustle and bustle that only a crowd of people can possess, but Death's touch left him positively agoraphobic. Earbuds blasting music and thick sunglasses do little to drown out the discordant chorus of lives to Kyungsoo's senses, and the most he can do is grit his teeth and walk faster. He's exposed enough out of necessity to have a certain numbness to it all, thankfully.  
  
Today, however, is a bad day. Today Kyungsoo woke up squinting and groaning at mere sunlight, the shadows under his eyelids tainted and teeming with memories and souls not his own, and had to make three batches of scrambled eggs just to calm himself down. Today Jongdae took one look at him and hissed at Chanyeol and Baekhyun to quiet the fuck down, and then wrapped him in the cocoon of his gentle fussing and worry. (Really, the mantle of War fits kind soft Jongdae least of all of them.)  
  
At his lecture, he struggles to concentrate, consumed by the sea of souls surrounding him in the lecture theatre, a million wavering strings and earsplitting white noise all he can register. During class he stays silent, lips tightly pressed together, grip on his chair white-knuckled, spine hunched, body heavy. The day is a struggle, every little thing acid on his overworked nerves.

His reaction later in the subway thus isn't really out of the blue, but it still fucking sucks. Stepping off the platform onto a rush hour train, feeling a thousand lives yanking and pulling and thrumming, packed into a metal cylinder on rails like sticky sweaty smelly mammalian sardines and each and every one burning - screeching tires on asphalt, blood choking up throats, bodies fever-flushed, magic gone awry - drained dry - Kyungsoo bites his cheek, cranks up the volume louder, but his headphones can do little in the face of the chaos. Shutting his eyes does nothing to block out the sensation. Every second, every discordant note and fraying thread and ethereal end, eats away at Kyungsoo's composure.

A suit-clad businessman knocks him aside as he strides past, barking into his phone, the contact slamming the echo of a heart attack into his chest. An entwined couple lean into his path as he’s trying to move, their lopsided threads discordant in his ears, and he has to fight not to start convulsing. A sweaty athlete stands next to him halfway through his trip, stinking with body odour and Axe, choking up his sinuses, his lungs aching too with the impression of his end.

He trips on his way up the stairs, and it’s all he can do to not burst into tears on the spot. With the ragged shreds of his sanity clutched tight, he stumbles through the gates, out into the glow of the golden hour and sees -  
  
“Yeollie-” Kyungsoo manages, choked up, and thankfully he doesn’t need to say a thing more to get the elder to dash across the pavement like he’s going for gold in the power walking Olympics, sweeping him up.  
  
"Oh, Kyungsoo," Chanyeol babbles, a thin veneer of composure in his voice belying his panic. Long arms come round and fold him quickly into his embrace, the faint scent of sweat and floral perfume filling Kyungsoo's lungs as they sway back and forth. "Soo-yah, I'm here, I'm here. Focus on me. Just on me, okay? Breathe, babe, breathe-"  
  
"We using pet names now?" Kyungsoo croaks, muffled into his chest. Chanyeol's very firm chest, because he’s a gym rat on top of being a rat dad. Somehow it's extra comforting to lay his head on it when it's this solid, like one of those charcoal pillows, except in the form of tiddies. Said tiddies shift and flex as Chanyeol lets out a long, wheezy exhale, tension draining away from his shoulders.  
  
"Okay, this isn't as bad as I thought if you can still make fun of my _sincere affection_ ." Chanyeol huffs, but Kyungsoo can hear the smile in his tone. "And yes, I will call you babe if I so please, _sir_.”

“Good to know, honeyboo,” Kyungsoo mumbles, half-audible and shuddery, and elicits a soft laugh. He sways a little as Chanyeol keeps him in his hold, shifting around to tuck one arm around his back, hand rubbing soothingly at Kyungsoo’s arm through layers of cloth.

“Let’s get you somewhere to sit,” Chanyeol murmurs, nudging him slightly. Shuffling along is a tandem effort, four feet ambling along at entirely different tempos, ankles knocking into each other from how close Chanyeol keeps them, and god Kyungsoo’s sure there’s people staring at them but Chanyeol’s warm and soothing and humming a cute little melody under his breath and that’s all Kyungsoo has to fixate his mind on to block it out.  
  
They manage to find a vacant bench, and his legs give way from under him as he sits. The symphony of strings lessens, the vivid tapestry of fates dulling gradually as his mind clears and he just breathes, the only thing he can hear the steady thump of Chanyeol’s heartbeat, the only thing he can see under his eyelids the familiar shimmering ivory thread of Chanyeol's lifeforce, bringing him sheer relief. Surrounded by people with such easily-snuffed out lives, it's nothing but soothing to have a string which he can't tell the end to.

Once it was a different colour, Kyungsoo’s sure - one of the shimmering multi-toned ragged strands he sees every minute of the day, but Pestilence bleached all colour and loose ends from his soul when it strode in and took the reins. Only stark, blinding, pure bone-white remains in it. Like Jongdae’s blood-red, like Baekhyun’s void-black, like Kyungsoo’s own pallid shade of corpse-green. Each striking, each mesmerizing, each a beacon that Kyungsoo clings to when the world screams in his head, the colours that fill his vision most vividly in these periods. Each breathtaking.

“Well, we do make a real sweet colour palette,” Chanyeol chuckles, laughing a little harder as Kyungsoo flushes and buries his face into his shoulder, mortified at unintentionally speaking his mind. “Yah, Do Kyungsoo, you’re so cute, you know that?” he coos. “You think I’m _breathtaking!_ ”

“In your dreams,” Kyungsoo mumbles back, reaching up to pinch and twist one elf-like ear and getting a yelp from the other.

“I mean, if we’re talking dreams, I also do take breaths from people in those,” Chanyeol says, offhand, even as Kyungsoo’s heart drops halfway through his guts, and he tumbles over words, chest tight.

“I didn’t-”

“Shit, Soo, I’m sorry,” Chanyeol hushes, planting a kiss on Kyungsoo’s head and pressing a hand on the back of his neck to pull him in further into his soothing embrace. “Just a shitty joke. I shouldn’t have brought that up, stupid of me.”

“No, s’fine, it’s fine,” Kyungsoo exhales slowly, trying to force his breathing and his heart rate and his tear ducts back down, tasting cotton fibers and floral tones, over salt and sweat and blood. “Just. Fuckin’ sucks.”

“Sorry,” Chanyeol murmurs, and Kyungsoo feels another kiss pressed to the crown of his head. “Big mood, though. Everything about what happened to us fuckin’ sucks,” Chanyeol says, contemplative, one hand rubbing Kyungsoo’s back in spiraling circular motions. “Y’know, it’s sorta like equivalent exchange. Except in more of a Fullmetal Alchemist kinda way. Get sick terrifying apocalyptic powers and knowledge in exchange for trauma and PTSD forever. No ironic limb loss or anything, though, so maybe not so much FMA, but y’know. No biggie.”

“Big biggie,” Kyungsoo grumbles, even as he feels a little spark of humour at Chanyeol clearly catering to both their weeb tendencies. “Biggest fuckin’ biggie. We sure as hell didn’t try to resurrect any dead moms in the process of this.”

“But it happened,” Chanyeol repeats, patting his back. “It happened, and there’s no homunculi or weird philosophical deities we can beat up to get better, so we just gotta deal. And besides. End of the world brought us together, didn’t it?”

“....God I hate it when you bring that up,” Kyungsoo sighs, burying himself further into the other’s side, shakes finally beginning to abate. “Only thing those fuckers managed to get right.”

“Mood. So, how’s your day been,” Chanyeol says. “Besides, y’know this.”

“Garbage,” Kyungsoo says simply. “Head achy. Tired. Dissociated straight through lectures. Train was jam packed full. ‘S better now that you’re here, though.” Chanyeol makes a cooing noise and hugs him tighter, and it’s a good thing he can’t see the flush rising in Kyungsoo’s cheeks right now or he’d be insufferable. “How was your day,” he says, muffled by hoodie.

“Pretty ordinary, class went good and I drove an old witch lady to her doctor’s appointment. She might be old and withered but she's goddamn healthy.” Chanyeol hums. “But it’s _better_ now that _you’re_ here, honey.”

“This is blatant plagiarism,” Kyungsoo mutters, pinching his side to alleviate the rush of sappiness. “Come up with your own heartfelt lines, cheater.”

“Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery,” Chanyeol coos.

“Like that’s ever been a valid excuse to any university board.”

“Ah, but you hate everything academia stands for, so you would never rat me and my thieving ways out.” Kyungsoo makes a wordless grumble. He’s right, damn him.

“Get off me, you word burglar.”

He extricates himself from the embrace, sniffling faintly. When he turns his head and blinks his eyes open, the tapestry of lives shimmers like a heat haze over the real world, no longer the skull-pounding chromatic aberration of before. The golden light of the sunset spills over the world, bathing the street in saffron and cornsilk and warmth, glass windows and metal sides glittering and gleaming like jewels under its touch. The fresh air kisses his cheeks, his lips, the still-damp trails down his face, and he reaches up with little thought, but doesn’t make it before he’s intercepted by another hand, thumb gently wiping the tears from one cheek, then the next.

“There we go, nice to see your face,” Chanyeol cheers softly. Kyungsoo looks up, looks at him, his face. His toothy grin, the swell of his bottom lip, the fading blotches and blemishes of zits on his nose, the shadowed bags underlining his eyes, the ethereal ivory thread wound round his being. The last wisps of sun crowning his being in an aureate halo, more blessed and seraphic than any of the ones Kyungsoo’s had the pleasure of meeting, and perhaps he hasn’t had many people he wanted to kiss in a full romo way but Kyungsoo’s never wanted to kiss someone more in his damn life.

“Oi, quit looking at me like that,” Chanyeol whines, breaking Kyungsoo out of his reverie. “I feel like you’re about to write a 2-star review on Yelp for my face or somethin’.”

“Two stars is too much credit,” Kyungsoo deadpans, laughing as Chanyeol wails dramatically.

“So mean, so cruel to one who only wished you well…”

“Ah, please, you crybaby. I’d write a 5 star review, honestly,” Kyungsoo says, butting his head against him gently, soft and smiley, and reaching down to take his hand into his. Big and warm and comforting, calloused fingers and palms from hard work and guitar strings, skin still carrying imprints of being scratched and picked raw.

“Now you’re just trying to butter me back up again,” Chanyeol grumbles, but he can hardly disguise his own delight, nuzzling back into the touch and swinging their linked hands back and forth a little. “Don’t believe his lies.”

The memory of Baekhyun and Jongdae, making out drunk and flushed on the couch flashes through his head, one final push from his impulsive pining brain. Fine. “Maybe this’ll convince you,” Kyungsoo says, and without letting himself think about it further, leans forward, eyes fluttering closed, and kisses him.

It’s not exactly a perfect kiss - it doesn’t last long at all, his glasses knock against Chanyeol’s nose and he bumps the other’s chin in the process but it feels right, it feels like butterflies taking flight in his stomach and exploding into sparks through his veins, Chanyeol’s string thrumming staccato and louder with each second under his hands. His lips are soft but chapped even with the sticky fruity lip balm he has on, the waxy sensation lingering on Kyungsoo’s lips as he tilts his head and presses in just a moment longer before he pulls back, inhaling, eyes opening.

“Wow,” Chanyeol says, eyes glassy and sparkling, looking distinctly like he’s discovered the Rapture. His entire face is getting increasingly pink, the corners of his eyes crinkling up as his lips stretch into a smile, gloss gleaming where it’s smeared around his mouth. “ _Wow_!”

“Did I kiss the words out of your brain or something,” Kyungsoo says, with great amusement.

“Wow!” Chanyeol repeats, a broken record, tucking his head into the crook of Kyungsoo’s neck and practically vibrating in place, grin blinding even where Kyungsoo can’t see it. “You know, I was planning to give you a heartfelt confession in private and hope you’d have mercy on my poor ass but wow! First kiss! In _public_!”

“Blame yourself for being cute,” Kyungsoo hums, and can barely stifle his grin when Chanyeol lets out a muffled scream of _‘do kyungsooooo’_ into his neck. His ears are so red, Kyungsoo can hardly resist the urge to coo.

“I just got kissed by Death,” Chanyeol says, sounding like he’s ascending through the stratosphere, past the nine tiers of heaven and beyond into the stars. “Death held my hand and kissed me in the middle of the street and called me _cute_.”

“If you’re going to be like this I’m going to take it back,” Kyungsoo says, only half joking. Chanyeol immediately sputters, rearing back, eyes wide.

“Oh no, oh no sir, you do not get to press undo on the best thing to happen to me in my very short life,” he’s babbling right into Kyungsoo’s personal space now, breath puffing against his cheeks with each word and arms flailing about like an inflatable balloon man and Kyungsoo should really mind this whole spectacle more than he does, “no sir, you are going to stay right here and take responsibility for briefly taking my soul in your beautiful hands and making it _explode_ into _glitter_ and _fairy dust_ , okay.”

Chanyeol exhales, eyes fixed on a point just below Kyungsoo’s nose. There’s something tender and iridescent in Kyungsoo’s chest, humming against his ribcage in time with his pulse, in time with the rhythm reverberating through Chanyeol’s ivory string. “Well then, what’re you staring for,” Kyungsoo says, in lieu of saying something even more embarrassing, reaching up and winding his arms around Chanyeol’s neck. “If you’re gonna do this right here, Yeol, I gave you a kiss, you better return it.”

Chanyeol blinks, glancing around for a moment at the increasing amount of passers-by. “Wh- wait are you sure. Again? Here? I was joking, Soo, I wouldn’t - you hate public stuff.”

He’s completely right, but Kyungsoo’s floating on a ridiculous love hormone and adrenaline high, so really at this point he might as well take this chance as far as it’s worth. He plucks off his glasses. “I am so far past my shame threshold right now I could not care less what any of these fucks think. I _said_ ,” Kyungsoo repeats, gently, to hammer the point home through Chanyeol’s dumb soppy caring about Kyungsoo’s wellbeing, “ _Return my kiss_ , bug boy.”

Chanyeol happily takes him up on that offer, descending on Kyungsoo’s mouth with the enthusiasm of a man in a desert stumbling upon an oasis. His hands come round to hold Kyungsoo’s waist, big warm palms against his waist, his hips, pulling him closer and lighting every nerve there up like a New Year’s night sky. Kyungsoo tries licking into his mouth and he makes a noise like it’s been punched out of him, pressing back with heightened fervour, and it’s actually the best thing ever. It’s quite a while before they bother to start breathing again.

“I think I caught a mom covering her kids’ eyes,” Kyungsoo says, voice coming out rough and more cheerful than he’s been in weeks, absentmindedly wiping his drool with his sleeve. His lips probably look like they’ve been stung by a particularly anxious bee, which is just too fitting. “Good job team.”

“Good job team,” Chanyeol chokes out, smothering his laughter back into the crook of Kyungsoo’s neck, wheezing desperately to catch his breath. When he resurfaces, Kyungsoo’s pleased to note that the lip gloss has been pretty much ruined, his lips bruised red and glossy even without it. “S-since you’re obviously feeling better, wanna get out of here? I’ve got a car and a helluva Maccas craving.”

Kyungsoo laughs, squeezing the hand in his. “Weird first date choice, but sure. Let’s go traumatize more old people.”

 

 

 -

 

They’re not exactly subtle, Chanyeol and Kyungsoo. It’s not like they haven’t caught on to their sudden increased clinginess to each other, or Baekhyun hasn’t barged into Kyungsoo’s room to find them sharing earbuds and cuddling on the bed or Jongdae hasn’t seen Chanyeol excitedly showing his bugs to Kyungsoo, or the both of them haven’t walked in to find Death and Plague making out like the end of the world’s coming back.

They’ve all …. not exactly talked about it, their weird tangled web. No one’s properly defined anything, all too scared to slap labels on something so fragile, but they all get it, and Jongdae keeps gushing over Chanyeol and Kyungsoo being adorable, and Chanyeol grins like a loon when he sees Jongdae puddled in Baekhyun’s lap and Baekhyun’s so happy for them and so happy with Jongdae but.

It’s terrible of him to feel left out when he has absolutely no right to, and it’s only mildly assuaged by the fact that he gets a Jongdae monopoly by default, but Baekhyun’s just. Maybe it’s Famine in him, but when he sees them, curled into each other, entwined, his heart twists something awful and that aching hunger paces restlessly in his gut, and he doesn’t know if he’s jealous of Kyungsoo, or Chanyeol, or both. He goes and drapes himself over Jongdae, whines for his attention, contents himself with having Jongdae’s smiles and warmth and tries to ignore how much he _wants_.

 

-

 

Baekhyun wakes up like usual - that is to say, jolts to the world of the living screaming silently into his own pillow, emaciation etched into the undersides of his eyelids. Really, he thinks faintly, in a sleep-drunk nightmare-buzzed haze, it’s a miracle he hasn’t ruined his vocal cords yet.

You’d think the vivid flashbacks of Despair™ would give it a rest by now, nearly two years from the day of the Apocalypse-That-Never-Was and just over two years and two months since the first day Famine stepped into his skull, but unfortunately having one of the Capital F. H. Four Horsemen tends to leave a mark on a poor human’s soul and psyche. He rolls over onto his back, blinks away tears and grotesque shapes, staring blearily at the ceiling, painted hazy china blue in the twilight, the cusp between night and day.

Five AM again. Because his brain just can’t handle having more than four hours of sleep at a time. He wishes he could blame his sleeping patterns on the Horseman too, but sadly his circadian rhythm is truly is his own worst enemy. Baekhyun resists the urge to scream in frustration, and instead settles for drifting wearily on the tide of drowsiness, entire body limp and floaty, trying his damndest to let it drag him back under. Maybe if he just lies here long enough his corporeal form will sink through the mattress and into the ground and he’ll have some decent sleep for once.

Fucking Famine. Fuckin’ bastard Horseman having the dramatic irony, the sheer fucking _audacity_ to pick a host that had already starved itself. And only once Famine had invaded his head, had swept up the essence of Byun Baekhyun in its tidal wave, only in that tsunami had Baekhyun for the first time in fucking years felt _alive_ , wanted so desperately to _live_. And once the storm ceased and the waves flung him back onto the shore, nothing more than a emptied-out vessel, even fucking then, Famine still had the sheer nerve to keep its goddamn hold on him. Echoes of power, of memories, of millennia, clinging his mind like the last drops of water in an upturned glass, the ghosts of eons bygone haunting his dreams and draining his days.

And the worst part - the absolute, shittiest wretched worst fucking part, is that Baekhyun only has Famine to thank for the shreds of his happiness now, because without the shared experience and suffering of the Horsemen, he would have never found Jongdae, or Chanyeol, or Kyungsoo. Without Famine, he’d have nothing at all. Baekhyun’s life is all just one grand cosmic joke, really.

Well. Perhaps the nothing at all statement is a little over-the-top, but fuck it, Baekhyun’s just had to suffer through a dream-warped flashback to the height of the Irish potato famine, he’s allowed to be fucking emotional. With a drained exhale, he scrunches his eyes shut, rolls over until his face is pressed into the pillow, and groans loud enough to wake the dead.

The distinctive ornery creaking of his door, and the padding of bedroom-slipper covered feet. If he wasn't so fucking beat he might have flinched. “Wow, I didn’t realise we had a zombie for a roommate,” comes a husky low voice, amused.

“Grnfnnff,” Baekhyun offers, mouth still mushed into pillowcase, before he bothers to turn his head enough to make coherent words. “Bold ‘f you t’think I wasn’t dead all’long.”

Kyungsoo snorts, murmuring softly. “Death is my shtick, don’t plagiarise. Heard you screaming,” Chanyeol, half-held up by Kyungsoo’s diminutive form, nods sleepily in assent. “Scooch over, it’s cuddle time.”

“Chan-Soo sandwich time, ‘m honored,” Baekhyun croaks, teasingly. Chanyeol laughs and, with little fanfare, takes two steps to his bedside and flops down on top of him, much to the elder’s dramatic wail and sleepy flailing. Kyungsoo squeezes in under the covers next to their half-awake wriggling bodies, puffs of his silent laughter hitting the back of Baekhyun’s neck, sending warm little shivers down his spine.

Chanyeol’s the more openly tactile and touch-craving of their eclectic quartet, but Kyungsoo, even with his established touch threshold and bubble of personal space, conveys affection and warmth in the same manner - soft patting of shoulders, gentle touches to backs and arms, hands held gently in his shy grip. In bed, that translates to him just a hand’s breadth away, linked to Baekhyun with a leg tucked over his own, a head tipped just a little forward to brush up against the other’s. Chanyeol, far more open with his intentions, ends up pressed up flush against his back and with arms and limbs slung over Baekhyun like a warm firm knobbly jetpack, face buried and snuffling in Baekhyun’s hair. He’s almost definitely doing that thing where he sniffs them, but Baekhyun can’t even bring up the token teasing protest, too tired and overwhelmed and gratefully sinking into the cocoon of them around him. It would be perfect if Jongdae was there too but, unfortunately, he’s gone away for the weekend to visit friends. He voices said thought tiredly.

“Miss Jongdae too,” Kyungsoo says, softly. “We can do a Discord call when we get up, ‘kay?”

“M’kay,” Baekhyun mumbles. “Ugh, s’not a proper cuddle w’out him.”

“I’d be insulted, but you’re so right,” Chanyeol says, planting a kiss in his hair. “We need a substitute for when he’s gone. Think we can find someone to do a dakimakura of him?”

“A _body pillow_ , Yeol. You’re such a weeb,” Kyungsoo teases, reaching over to poke him in the side and eliciting a little yelp.

“You’re one to talk, Mr. Ryoma Echizen Is My Husband,” Chanyeol snipes back, striking with a well placed mussing of hair and a squawk from the other.

“No, no, he’s got a point,” Baekhyun says, contemplative, nuzzling back into the taller’s embrace, batting away both their arms to stop them flirt-wrestling with him squished between them and steadfastly ignoring how their affections make that terrible familiar hunger gnaw at his innards. “When he comes back we can make ‘im do a photoshoot in bed ‘n slap the pics on body pillows. Keep the best for ourselves ‘n sell the rest, we’d make a killing.”

“Ah, the joys of capitalism,” Chanyeol hums. “Doesn’t he have that fanclub from when he was a child musical actor or something?”

Baekhyun lets out a sleep-rough cackle. “Go-d, yeah he _does_ , they’d eat this shit _up_ . We could pay _rent_ w’ this plan.”

“Are we actually considering selling our fellow horseman’s body for fun and profit,” Kyungsoo deadpans, smacking the both of them in the sides. “Come up with your business plans when there’s light out, fuck’s sakes.”

“Can’t a bitch resort to a little humour to repress his trauma ‘round here?” Baekhyun mumbles jokingly under his breath, and belatedly realises that they can hear him from the sound of their tender exhales. He can’t see it but he knows that Kyungsoo’s eyes just softened, and behind him, he knows Chanyeol’s getting all emo from the way he cozies up even more, molded against his back.

“Baekhyun,” Kyungsoo says, tender. Just one word conveys all the warmth and empathy possible, because Kyungsoo’s just talented like that. Baekhyun melts a little, tipping his head forward to brush against his.

“Y’wanna talk ‘bout it?” Chanyeol mumbles, planting a little ‘sorry you feel terrible but we love you’ kiss on his neck. “It helps, y’know. God knows I’ve dumped my shitty plague nightmares on y’all often ‘nough.”

“Well, unlike you, I subscribe t’the school of Bottling Up Everything Or Die,” Baekhyun says, and gets a poke in the ribs for his snark. “....’kay, ‘kay, I’ll talk about it when it’s actually daytime.”

“Good enough,” Kyungsoo huffs, wriggling in a little further to sling one arm over him. “Go to sleep, Baek. We’ll punch the night terrors for you. Might as well use my Death powers for good.”

“Dunno if the plague works on night terrors but I can try,” Chanyeol chimes in.

“M’ heroes,” Baekhyun hums, teasing, despite the rosy golden feeling and the purr in his skull at their reassurance. Words bud on his tongue unbidden, drenched in too-honest affection, _I love_ \- he bites them back, scrunches his eyes shut, wrings his hands into soft cotton sleeves and shirts. “Who needs guardian angels when I’ve got you guys, huh?”

“Careful, they might hear,” Kyungsoo mumbles, smile twisting his words into a joking lilt.

“Well we’ll put ‘em out of their jobs soon enough,” Chanyeol says, mock-grave, cuddling in closer to Baekhyun’s back, one of his hands meeting Kyungsoo’s halfway. “But later. Sleeptime, Byun.”

The bedframe rumbles and wheezes when they shift, Baekhyun’s puny little single not nearly enough to contain the three of them, keeping them in weird resting positions and far too close for comfort, and they're all gonna wake up with weird aches and cricks in necks and joints tomorrow. Somehow, squished together, Famine yawning in his belly, sapphire glow spilling in through the window, Baekhyun finally drifts off into hazy rest.

 

-

 

“I’ll take this one, Yerim,” Jongdae says, smiling. “Your shift ends in a few, right? I’ll cover for you, go have lunch.”  
  
Yerim lights up at the offer, stammering out a thank you and bouncing to the back room. Jongdae steps up to the counter, customer service smile melting into something warmer. “If it isn’t the big boss himself. I like the new hair, by the way.”  
  
“Hey, the whole mess is over, I’m no-one’s boss now,” Yixing laughs, goodnaturedly, Changsha dialect curling around his English. The sunlight dances in his bleach-blonde hair, eyes twinkling with their familiar eldritch glow. “And thank you. It’s good to see you, Jongdae.”  
  
“I’m not gonna lie and say I’m not a little worried that you’re here,” Jongdae replies cheerily, “but yeah, good to see you too. I am on the job, though, so. You gonna have a drink?”  
  
“Unicorn frappuccino,” Yixing says, a joking tone in his voice. “Always wanted to try it. I’m sure it’ll taste even better, made by you.”  
  
“Last I checked you had a boyfriend, mate,” Jongdae deadpans, keying in the order. “One unicorn frap, coming up for the Antichrist.”  
  
  
  
The sky’s a vivid, azure blue today, wispy white clouds streaked and swirling slowly across its expanse. Wind belts its way through the towers and skyscrapers, rushing over the streets in surges, making the trees whisper and people zip up their coats tighter.  
  
Jongdae takes a sip from his water bottle, casting a shrewd glance at his visitor. “So, what’s the real reason you’re hitting me up today?”  
  
The dread Antichrist has a little foam mustache on his upper lip and a dimple in one cheek, both shifting and folding as he pouts. “I can’t just check in with a friend?”  
  
“Your checking in always involves some kind of capital ‘S’ Situation gone to absolute shite, so forgive me if I’m a little skeptical of your honest intentions."

“I’m hurt! You’re right, but I’m still hurt!” Yixing says brightly. “But not this time, at least. I genuinely just wanted to catch up and see how everything’s going. We passed the two year anniversary, you know?”  
  
Jongdae blinks. “Huh. Yeah. Two years since the apocalypse got cancelled.” Two years and two months since the wildest, most lifechanging, traumatic, bizarre summer of Jongdae’s life.  
  
“Two years,” Yixing repeats, humming something under his breath. “ _Wakin’ up at the start of the end of the world…_ ”  
  
“I didn't realise Matchbox Twenty was popular in China." Jongdae comments absently.  
  
"They're not, but it's appropriate, isn't it?" Yixing grins. "So, how's it been? How's normal life been treating you? Have you guys finally started therapy?"  
  
"I'm tired, my coursework makes me want to self-combust, I have more nightmares than good dreams and also a frankly distressing amount of anger issues," Jongdae deadpans. "So, y'know, I'm doing great. And we figured it’d be awkward to do therapy when everything to do with our issues is Biblically Classified."  
  
Yixing, blessedly true to form, shows no sign of cloying pity or sympathy or worry in him at his words. Just nods, face serene and light, cloud-blue and thoughtful as ever. "Mm, that's good. You've been working hard, Jongdae. Don't feel so guilty over being yourself."  
  
His hands curl around his bottle, throat abruptly choked up. Fucking Antichrist and his weird ass prescience. "Easy for you to say, sir Cancelled-Armageddon."  
  
"It is easy for me to say, and I apologise if what I say doesn't help," Yixing acknowledges, inclining his head. "My powers have been with me for a long time now. A gentle stream. Yours came in like a dam breaking. It's natural that it doesn't feel right."  
  
Jongdae swallows, thinks about every person he's ever reached out with War's hands and pushed. "Feeling _right_ isn't really what I want to be working towards, Yixing."  
  
"But it does feel right, for some part of you," Yixing sips his unicorn frappuccino, reaching out and gently patting Jongdae's thigh. "It's okay to have weird emotions about it. But there's no point in shaming a leopard for having spots."  
  
Jongdae snorts. "You know, I'm not sure that's how that phrase goes, but sure. How's life on your end? How's Lu Han been?"

If you didn’t know any better, it’d be impossible to think Yixing to be the Harbinger of All Evils with how angelically he lights up at the very mention of his boyfriend - far more Good Omens than Rosemary's Baby, except, y'know, gayer. “Han’s _great_ ,” he says, with the melty dreamy expression of a man absolutely, disgustingly besotted. “He’s busy with the shop an' all so he’s all the way back home, but we talk every day, and I have some of the Fallen on guard duty in case anyone tries anything. He’s been using them to get his groceries for him, too. Actually, speaking of him, yesterday I finally convinced him to try out that new remote-control toy we got and we nearly-”

“Oh, don’t even finish that sentence, in fact please forget I asked,” Jongdae says, quickly, wishing dearly for brain bleach. “I’m glad you’re having a great sex life with your boyfriend. I’d be even happier if you never told me about it ever. How you two function as a couple is beyond me.”

"I know, it’s crazy, right? Oh, she's here," Yixing says suddenly, visibly lighting up as his gaze zeroes in on something in the distance. Jongdae straightens up, follows the line of sight across the plaza and the street, over to a gang of young women, their outfits a combined riot of glitter and rainbows, heels high enough to crack the pavement. From his seat on the bench, Jongdae can feel them - their giddy joy, their love and humour, and even if he didn't have supernatural senses he could easily tell with how loudly and jubilantly they're all laughing. But one stands out brightest of all - dark hair done up in twin buns, bomber jacket shimmery rose gold, cheeks flushed and streaked with paint, her aura a ringing golden beacon of glorious, Righteous energy.  
  
Which explains the angel trailing behind the group, mingled in with the pedestrians. The human host of a disguise really does nothing to disguise the hundred-winged thousand-eyed burning halo gimmick they have going on.  
  
"She's doing well, that's good." Yixing looks over at her, eyes aglow, fondness rose-tinted to Jongdae’s senses. “Kim Taeyeon. She would’ve been the Woman, y'know,” he murmurs.  
  
Jongdae barely has time to register the name of one of the powerhouses of the pop charts and that he’s looking at _Taeyeon_ before he’s hit with the second remark. “The Woman?” Jongdae asks, confused for a moment, but in the back of his mind an echo chimes with recognition, Yixing answering in tandem with it.

“The Woman of Apocalypse.” The words resound, thrumming through reality, their gravity practically tangible in the air. Yixing continues, airily, as Taeyeon and her crew turn the corner and vanish, angelic escort right on their heels. ”If they’d broken open the Seventh Seal, she’d have stumbled into a bar drunk off her mind after a fight with her girlfriend, and gotten knocked up with the next Christ. Cloaked in sun, moon at her feet, stars crowned in her hair, running from a Dragon, the works.”  
  
“But that didn’t happen,” Jongdae says. Obviously, because the news would have a field day if she even gained the slightest bit of pudge on her abdomen, but Jongdae’s still reeling from seeing fuckin’ _Taeyeon_ to make any educated statements. Fuck, he wishes he could’ve gotten her picture or something.  
  
Yixing nods. “It never happened. She gets to stay right here, alive and whole. That’s what I stopped all of that nonsense for.” He looks away for a moment, grinning wider. “Sure, the world’s going to shit and humanity is awful and we’re all burning alive but just - look at them all!” He beams, casting a hand around the street, eyes alight with something unearthly in the sunlight, voice underlaid with shadows of divinity. “Souls trapped in flesh and bone and blood, bound by society and nature, sentenced to suffer with inevitable mortality and still! People live. People thrive. Who are the divine, to take from mortals what they’ve earned for themselves?”  
  
“I thought you stopped the apocalypse because you didn’t want your boyfriend to die,” Jongdae says, dryly.  
  
The Antichrist laughs, throwing his head back, a flash of jubilant sunflower-yellow. “That too, that first. But. _Life_ , bro.” Yixing takes a deep, full breath, eyes shut, seemingly savoring every wisp that enters his lungs. “Life is beautiful. Like hell I was gonna let all of this end just because some God deemed it time.”  
  
"A real Shakespeare, aren't you.”

“I try,” Yixing says modestly, taking a sip of his drink. “Lu Han likes to say _‘bard in the streets, barbarian-_ ”

“You know what, forget I said anything,” Jongdae deadpans. "So I take it she's the real reason you came by?"  
  
"No, I was going to go and find her later, that was actually pure coincidence," Yixing admits easily, getting to his feet and stretching his arms up to the sun. "Some days the universe just likes to bring things together. But I’m sure I've kept you for too long, it's been lovely catching up with you."  
  
"Yixing, hold on," Jongdae calls out, quickly, before the other can take a step. "Can I just ask -"  
  
Yixing sits back down at once, gaze attentive. "Anything, Jongdae. Ask away."  
  
"It's just. Us, and the Horsemen. It just doesn't make sense -" Jongdae bursts out in a rush. "Why pick four teenage Korean boys to bring on the apocalypse? None of us wanted or asked for this, for any of this. We lived and grew up entirely isolated from each other, half of us on entirely different continents, with normal peaceful lives. The four of us had no clue the supernatural even existed. Why us? Why pick _us_ ?"  
  
"I mean it wasn't really a matter of picking." Yixing says, plainly. He takes a final drag of his drink, and sets it down, spreading his hands in an expansive gesture and drawing a circle in the air. "Souls run through lives on cycles, and fates and stories follow with them. The angels and demons and old gods, they're separate from mortal things, but the Horsemen, the Messiah, the Antichrist - we're all born from humanity, so we follow human souls in that way. From womb to tomb, one life to the next. I’ve carried my title with me my whole life, even if I didn’t always know it. So've you."

There’s a ringing in Jongdae’s ears, his headache returning. “And what about all of us being Korean kids of the same age?”

Yixing gives a little wave of his hand. “Oh, that’s just Horseman group synergy. You guys tend to incarnate really close to each other and fall into lives with a certain measure of sameness. Something about subconsciously needing to match, don’t think too hard about it.”  
  
"Ah.” Jongdae says, faintly. “And you couldn't have bothered to sit us down, and I don’t know, _explain_ all these - these bloody _soul mechanics_ before?" His tone rises, pitchy and more than a tad hysterical. Yixing has the grace to look faintly sheepish, but the teal of his mild guilt only tastes bitter.  
  
"It just never came up... and it wasn't really relevant?"  
  
Fucking _infuriating bastard_ of an Antichrist - " _It's the most relevant fucking thing in the world_ " Jongdae snaps, feeling his eyes burn unconsciously, "You're telling me the fuckin' Red Rider picked me to hitch a ride on because some past life of mine was _mates_ with 'im - God, I don't. I’m.” His voice cracks, raw, and the inhale scratches his throat. Yixing reaches over to pat his back, and twin warring urges rise up in him to either break down into a good long cry or _eviscerate_ him.

“I barely get any sleep because I dream of every battle in human history, and Kyungsoo has meltdowns because of every death on his conscience, and Baekhyun goes days without eating and Chanyeol goes days without sleeping, and -” he bites off a curse, dragging his hands down his face. “I was normal. I was just any regular stupid teenager, I had normal dreams and normal thoughts and I definitely never felt anything like - like -" Unbidden, his voice hitches and sticks to the back of his throat, caught against the lump there. Yixing just watches him trail off, something dawning in his expression, silvery realisation curdling into new, weary emotion, one hand heavy on Jongdae’s back.  
  
"Not 'mates' with your past life. _Was_ your past life. _Is_ you." The Antichrist looks at him, pity in his fathomless eyes. “Oh, Jongdae,” he says, softly. “Whatever makes you think the Rider wasn't in you from the beginning?”

 

 

 -

 

 

**_POWER RANGERS APOCALYPSE RIDERS [4:30PM SATURDAYS, DISNEY XD]_ **

 

**red ranger: SWORD**

So i may have punched yixing

 

**Pale Ranger: Sickle**

Jongdae

 

**WHITE RANGER: BOW**

WAL;SDFK;LHJKASDF WHA

 

**What kind of a shitty weapon is a set of scales**

OH MY GOD SPILL THE TEA

 

**red ranger: SWORD**

No its okay he let me and i made him another unicorn frapp for free afterwards

Luhan might track me down and beat my ass but its all chill

Also I saw taeyeon in the flesh did you know she wouldve been part of the apocalypse

 

**WHITE RANGER: BOW**

JONGDAE WHAT ON FUCKGIGN

ARE YOU OK

 

**red ranger: SWORD**

Dont worry the only thing hurt is Yixings face

 

**What kind of a shitty weapon is a set of scales**

U SAW THJKSDHJKFL;KJSDFJLK; TAEYEON?!?!?!???

ABND YOU DIDTNT GET HER AUTOGRPAH?!?!?!?!?!?!??

 

**Pale Ranger: Sickle**

No stop changing the subject why did the antichrist deserve to be punched and why did you even punch him in the first place

 

**red ranger: SWORD**

She was across the street baek it was only a few seconds

Oh like you wouldnt given the chance

 

**Pale Ranger: Sickle**

.

Fair.

Did it feel good

 

**red ranger: SWORD**

It was the most profound healing experience of my year

Yixing also gave me the number for this ex-angel therapist in the area if yall wanna FINALLY go to therapy sometime

 

**What kind of a shitty weapon is a set of scales**

DID YUO AT LEAST TAKE PICTURES OF HERH

 

**WHITE RANGER: BOW**

YALL better leave your fucking doors open when u get back bc we goin TEA TIME CUNTS

 

**Pale Ranger: Sickle**

Starting therapy sounds good

 

-

 

The sight of people still up at ungodly hours of the morning is far from a strange sight in their flat, with how terrible all of their sleeping patterns are, but it is surprising to walk into the living room at ass ‘o clock in the morning and find Jongdae and Baekhyun not making out but instead mashing away at controllers. On their shitty TV screen, a pink cart careens off Rainbow Road into the abyss as a green one slides past the finish line, the music erupting into victorious fanfare and Baekhyun’s groaning.

“Yeollie!“ Jongdae smiles, giving a little wave. ”Can’t sleep?” he says sympathetically.

Chanyeol throws up finger guns. “Oh, you _know_ it baby.”

“What a fuckin’ mood.” Baekhyun says, cheery, patting the cushions next to him. “Come, siddown, join us! You can help me take Jongdae down, he’s been _bullying_ me for the past three rounds.”

“It’s not bullying, it’s playing the game,” Jongdae says mildly.

“Playing the game my abused red-shelled _ass_ ,” Baekhyun shoots back, sniffing. “Can’t believe you’d treat your main squeeze like this-”

“I am and I’d do it again,” Jongdae says, pecking him on the cheek in pity. “Love is dead. Only Mario Kart now.”

Chanyeol squints at the screen. “Kicking your ass with Yoshi to boot. And you call yourself a gamer, Byun?”

“Listen, okay, Jongdae’s a demon, I’d like to see _you_ try. You’ve never matched with him in League.”

“He’s only been gaming for like a year.” Chanyeol says, with increasing levels of amusement. “He’d never so much as touched a controller until he moved in with us. Baekhyun, we had to teach him how to play _Pokemon_.”

“It’s true,” Jongdae says, near chirping. “No time for Gameboys when you've got rehearsals. Video games are the devil’s work, as my grandparents liked to say.”

“Well you’re proving them one hundred percent right, with Satan’s own fucking learning curve.” Baekhyun grumbles. “Stop roasting me and take him on yourself if you’re so hard, Yeol.”

“Gladly,” Chanyeol beams, plopping down and plucking the controller out of his hands. “Dragon Driftway sound good to you, Dae?”

“Oh, you’re too coward for Rainbow Road?” Baekhyun snarks, shifting over to give Chanyeol more room and curling into his side, tucking his head onto one shoulder sleepily and pointedly moving away from Jongdae in faux-offence. For someone who spends so much time around stinky creepy crawlies and the even grosser gym, Chanyeol smells amazing - like home, like comfy bedsheets and that Johnson & Johnson baby shampoo he uses, and his shoulders are so nice and sturdy and great for resting on, and it’s really no wonder Kyungsoo’s all over him.

Chanyeol just lets him, reaching up without looking to shift Baekhyun’s head into a more comfortable position, face at perfect ease like that one motion didn’t just make Baekhyun’s heart choke on its metaphorical spit. “I just woke up, let me have my warm up round.”

“You taking my man from me now, Yeollie?” Jongdae asks, amused.

“He’s the prize,” Chanyeol jokes. “I’ll loan him back to you after I win.”

 

 

Four tracks later, Chanyeol’s left staring at the victory screen as Yoshi cruises merrily down glittering rainbows.

“How,” Chanyeol says, shell shock in his eyes, jaw slack. Jongdae beams, a halo practically materialising around his fluffy head, his arms open wide.

“Baekhyunnie, I won!"

“See. _Demon_ ,” Baekhyun insists, even as he moves back to cuddle into Jongdae’s side and receives a celebratory smooch, abandoning Chanyeol to question reality on his own.

“The drifting. The fucking lightning! How do you _keep getting blue shells-_ ”

“It’s just talent,” Jongdae simpers, reaching over to pet Chanyeol’s head in part pity and part condescension.

“What is your fucking secret. What the fuck.”

“My running theory is that War extends to all battles, including those in the virtual realm,” Baekhyun says, with the tone of a man who has expended great amounts of time and thought in this. “Automatic boost to all stats, luck manipulation, victory aura. Something along those lines.”

Jongdae plants a kiss on his cheek, patting his cheek. “If it makes you feel better, Hyun-ah.”

A sudden noise from the corridor makes them all startle and whip their heads over. A figure emerges from the shadows, eyebags heavy behind thick glasses and hair a tangled bird’s nest. Death himself, in a hoodie that says SEXUAL FANTASIES and space-patterned boxers and wearing sleep deprivation like a shroud, barefooted and padding across the floor.

“Are you all playing Mario Kart. At 3AM. On a fucking Monday.” Kyungsoo says, quietly, eyes dark. They all freeze instinctively as he takes a breath. “ _Without me.”_

There’s a collective exhale. “You’re correct!” Baekhyun chirps. “But now you’re up, so we can finally get this party really started!”

“Don’t say party, you’re just going to tempt fate and we’re gonna wake up tomorrow with noise complaints,” Jongdae tuts. “Sorry if we woke you up, Soo.”

“No, don’t worry, it was nightmares, not you guys.”

“ _Soo_ ,” Chanyeol whines, making grabby hands, pulling his finest puppy dog eyes. “ _Soooooo_ , Jongdae’s a monsterrrr.”

Said man squawks. “ _Hey_ , we established I’m at the very _least_ a demon!”

“Aw, did the mean man bully you?” Kyungsoo says dryly, plopping down in Chanyeol’s lap sideways, swinging his legs over Baekhyun and Jongdae’s combined laps and hitting Baekhyun when he tries to tickle the backs of his knees. “Do you need me to pet you and put you to bed, dear?”

“Can you put me to bed too, I’ve been enduring this _torment_ for _way_ longer-” Baekhyun’s cut off mid-joke by a knee in his stomach, wheezing. “Will my suffering never end.” Jongdae pets his head, eyes crinkled at the corners with his grin.

“That would be nice, but I’ll settle for this,” Chanyeol says, paying Baekhyun no mind, already tucking his head into the crook of Kyungsoo’s neck and snuffling absently, hands wound round the smaller man’s waist like a makeshift seatbelt. “Play for me, please, I’m tired, I can’t take much more of this emotional damage.”

“You big baby,” Kyungsoo says, warm. “An actual infant. Jongdae, I’m going to have to take you in for child abuse.”

“Hey, you’re the one dating said infant-"

“Let’s not verge into weird pedophilia analogies!” Baekhyun says brightly, tossing Kyungsoo a controller. “And Chanyeol, no running from doom. We’re all gonna play and we’re all gonna ruin our collective friendships _together_.”

“You’re the one who ran like a coward in the first place!”

“Semantics!” Baekhyun chirps, as the screen blooms into the starting line.

(Kyungsoo narrowly edges out Jongdae for 1st place, and wins five massages from him, a week’s worth of groceries from Baekhyun, and a promise from Chanyeol to pick him up from work on Friday, even as the other two complain of ridiculous bias because ‘he already does that anyways’. They do end up getting noise complaints, for making a cacophony at 4AM, but they’re all too tired to care the next day anyways.)

 

 

-

 

There's a full spread on the counter - a bowl of Greek yoghurt, a towering stack of fluffy golden brown pancakes, a platter of crispy freshly-done toast with butter and jam waiting at the side. A smattering of bowls with blueberries and strawberries and carefully peeled mandarins, the French press filled up to the brim with brew, and a carton of milk and a carton of orange juice right next to four waiting glasses. And Kyungsoo's not even done cooking yet.

The windows are open, letting in cool drafts of November chill to whisk away the smoke and heat of the stove, and letting the sunlight spill in as well to fill up the room with light. Kyungsoo can hardly feel any of the cold though, with the stove in front and Park "Living Heater" Chanyeol at his back, arms cling-wrapped around his chest and face tucked neatly between neck and shoulder, his gentle affection enough to make Kyungsoo a little weak-kneed and goopy. It's shaping up to be an excellent Sunday, if this is how he's starting it.

Kyungsoo can feel the drumming in his bones intensify as the third member of their quartet enters the room, and exclaims with no small amount of glee. "This smells fucking _amazing_."

“Morning, Dae,” Kyungsoo says, with one too-tall Avatar of Plague draped over and clinging to his back as he flips an egg over on the pan.

“Good morning, Soo. What’s all of this for?” Jongdae says, his voice coming a note confused.

“No particular reason," Kyungsoo hums. "But Baekhyun's got a day off today and we're all free so. It's just nice to have us all together here in the daylight. Figured brunch would be a nice way to commemorate it." Lowering his voice a little, he speaks to his hanger-on. "Yeol, babe, what d'you think after this, omelette or eggs benedict?"

"Omelette," the sweater-draped mass puddled on his back mumbles, sleep-rough and low, accent thick. "With the spring onions 'n the mushrooms 'n tomatoes would be nice. I can cut 'em up now if you'll cook." Kyungsoo tries to hide the pleasant little shudder that goes down his spine at the sound, how it makes his pulse stutter.

"What're you waiting for then, go forth," Kyungsoo says, tipping his head back to touch Chanyeol's affectionately and getting a chuckle out of the other.

 _"Yes chef._ " Chanyeol sings, peeling himself away, a sudden lightness to Kyungsoo's shoulders freeing him up to go fetch a bowl and a fork. Kyungsoo almost misses his deadweight on his back already - misses the Actual Impediment to his cooking process, and God if that isn't a sign of how stupidly gone he is. Jongdae takes the opportunity to sidle over, ogling the pan and the sunny side ups beginning to accumulate in the plate to the side.

"There's coffee in the press already," Kyungsoo says, tipping his head over to the spread and cracking an egg into the bowl. "The yoghurt's for eating with the berries and the honey too, if you feel like it. Those're banana pancakes, the maple syrup's right there, and the toast, it. Well, it's toast. If you want it savoury instead of sweet I'm making eggs now, if you want anything specific."

"You've planned all of this out, goddamn," Jongdae says, his smile curling up at the corners, stretching broad and warm, and his hand comes up pat Kyungsoo's hair, mussing it up a little, the sensation of fingers against his scalp electric. "Thank you for going to all this effort, Soo, you're the best."

Kyungsoo ducks his head from the touch and adjusts his glasses, cheeks hot, heart doing a little tapdance in his chest. He flips the egg over a second time, deeming it done and dumping it in the pile. "It's really nothing. D'you want any eggs? Otherwise, can you drag Baek outta bed soon?"

"Uh, I'll just get a sunny side, and he's already up," Jongdae starts, before he's interrupted by a noise from the corridor. "Speak of the devil."

The familiar ever-present humming of that night-black string is only audible to Kyungsoo's ears, but it's just another indelible part to the cacophony Baekhyun emanates. He lets out a long whistle, bouncing over to Jongdae's side. "Holy _shit_ , what army are we havin' over for breakfast."

"Good morning, Baek. It's brunch, and it's just you guys." Kyungsoo says dryly, adding a dash of pepper to the omelette mix on muscle memory. "I mean, combined we're an army enough."

"True, true. Mornin' t'you Soo," Baekhyun chirps, only the littlest bit wavery, before his footsteps come closer, followed by a cartoonishly loud kissing sound. Jongdae hums, tender, and leans into him.

Kyungsoo looks away from his pan and glances over. Baekhyun's eyeing down the spread in a somewhat distant manner, sunlight washing over his sleep-puffy face and the darkness under his eyes and it makes his chest hurt a little. "Take your pick," he says, softly. "If you feel like sunny-side up, it's here. Yeol and I are gonna make omelette."

"Might just go for the yoghurt, personally," Baekhyun mumbles, "Not feeling up to grease today."

"Surprising, with your personality," Kyungsoo deadpans, and is rewarded with a cackle from both Jongdae and Chanyeol and an amazing squawking duck impression from Baekhyun.

"Alright I'll have you know my personality is only greasy with the _tenderest_ and _oiliest_ of affections-" he gets out, mock-outraged, shaking his finger at Kyungsoo dramatically. Jongdae's laughter only increases in volume. "-without which your lives would be dry and _flavorless_!"

"Gross," Kyungsoo says. "No wonder all our cholesterol's so bad. You need a health warning label on you."

"Oh, so we doing all food metaphors today, huh." Chanyeol grins, coming over and nuzzling Kyungsoo's hair with his face. "Then Soo's my li'l toaster strudel." Baekhyun and Jongdae howl in laughter behind them, and that's all Kyungsoo needs to reach over his shoulder, find that ear, and twist.

"Whatever weird memes you're referencing, I don't wanna know, you animals. Hurry up with the chopping, sous chef, I'm waiting on you." Chanyeol gives a wheezy giggly ' _yes chef'_ in response, heading back to finish up with his half-done mushrooms.

Part of him wants to be pushy, to cluck and mother hen like he's channeling his grandmother's ghost, but that's not how it works. Still, Kyungsoo can't help the knee-jerk reflex when he sees the sharpness in Jongdae's cheeks and words and wild eyes, the way Chanyeol folds in on himself when he gets too deep in his head, and Baekhyun's skinny wrists and too-thin waist most of all. More heart-to-heart issues and deep psychological traumas are out of his comfort zone, but with something as tangible as food, something as simple and everyday and grounding as a full meal - that he can handle. It makes him sound like every old kindly auntie ever, but food as a love language rings true to Kyungsoo.

Chanyeol finally pops his sliced goods into the pan, and soon the air's thick with the aroma of spring onions cooking. Kyungsoo pokes them around with his spatula, keeping half an eye on them, and half an eye on the way Chanyeol's throwing glances over his shoulder at the other half of their quartet at the table and mechanically, absentmindedly picking at the skin of his fingers.

"You okay, Yeollie?" Kyungsoo asks. Chanyeol bites his lip, worrying it between his teeth.

"They-" he makes a strangled little noise, hesitant, toying with his right thumb. "they're so. And you're so. And I'm. Soo, I think we should ask 'em."

Oh. His heart stutters on a half-step. “Are you sure you wanna bring it up now, Yeollie?” Kyungsoo puts the spatula aside and reaches over, batting his hands away from each other to take them in in his. His fingers are weirdly crevassed and peeling at the ends from his anxiety, sticky and damp with juice and oils, shaking slightly. “You don’t have to feel like you have to rush it or anything, if you're not ready.”

“No, now’s. Now or never. I'm ready.” Chanyeol ducks his head, his breath coming as erratic puffs before he inhales deeply, his string wavering vibrato. “I mean not actually never, but better to get it out now, right? Like, you said it y'rself, when else are we all gonna be together 'n proper awake like this? Question is, are you good with it?” Pestilence's gaze meets his, warm and sincere.

With the height he's at now, he's at the perfect angle for Kyungsoo to kiss his forehead, and so he does just that. “I'm good if you are. You’re doing great, babe.” He raises his voice slightly. “Jongdae, Baekhyun.”

The two halt mid-conversation, perking up at their names. "Yeah?" Baekhyun asks.

“Do you think you guys would?” Chanyeol asks, nonchalant. “Ever be up to. Like. Relationships?”

"Well," Jongdae begins, thoughtful, before he's interrupted.

“Why would even think about anyone else when I have my _daddy_ right here - ow!” Baekhyun yelps from the smack and then laughs, hyena-like as Jongdae groans. " _Oooh_ , father figure, was I being naughty?"

Jongdae can barely stifle the stupid grin on his face, voice barely keeping a modicum of anger with the laughter bleeding through. "I'm going to kill you. I'm going to throw you out this window, they'll never identify the body."

"Love it when you get rough, _alpha_ ," Baekhyun wheezes, cackling even as Jongdae starts play-hitting him harder, the two falling over and breaking out into wrestling on the floor. "Ooh, sir, no need to get so rough, you know I _like_ it-"

Kyungsoo looks at them blankly. "They were going through shitty porn fics a few days ago, I think it's broken their brains," Chanyeol mumbles into his ear, filled with mirth, then calls out louder. "I meant with people other than you two, jackasses."

Baekhyun pries Jongdae off of him, panting. "With regular people? Don’t think it’s fair to dump my traumatized ass on a perfectly normal human right now,”  

Jongdae squawks. " _Hey_ , then what the fuck am I, chopped liver?" 

"No, no, I said _perfectly normal_ human, sweetie," Baekhyun coos, reaching up and pinching one cheek. "Someone as cute as you could never be normal."

“Nice save, greasemaster.”

"And of course, someone as _strong_ as my _alpha_ -"

Baekhyun cuts off into mock-pained giggles as Jongdae reaches round and pinches the back of his neck."Oh, I take it the fuck back," Jongdae snorts, still breathy with chuckles, but turns to squint at Chanyeol. “No, but that’s not what this is about, is it.”

Chanyeol flushes, starts. “I mean, like. Definitely relationships in general, and it’s not like anyone’s stopping anyone from dating anyone but like, the - the - our codependency, and the six way signalling, and. And.”

Kyungsoo sneaks one hand to Chanyeol, finds one warm palm and holds it, taking a breath. “What Yeol means is he wants to date all of us. And also wants all of us to date.”

On the floor, the two still. “All of us,” Baekhyun echoes, eyes wide, jaw slack. 

“Soo,” Chanyeol whines, cheeks red, pouting as Kyungsoo squeezes his hand, shrinks a little with all their gazes on him. “.....Ugh, yeah, what he said.”

“So, what you’re saying is poly?” Jongdae asks, eyebrow raised, lips quirked. "And you're serious about this? No shit?"

"All of us," Baekhyun repeats, brain visibly rebooting. 

“.....Yeah,” Chanyeol mumbles. Kyungsoo squeezes his hand again, gaze flicking back and forth between him and the others. All of their strings are humming in mildly alarming fashion, staccato and manic. “It’s - it's dumb, I know, but.”

He's cut off by Jongdae's blinding grin. " _Yes_ , obviously!"

"Hu-" Baekhyun starts, whipping his head around to the man on top of him, in a manner Kyungsoo can wholly relate to right now. "Wh. Wha-"

"This is literally the answer to all of our romantic woes, my God, thank you for _finally_ asking," Jongdae sings, like he isn't knocking all of them on their asses with that mere statement. "Do you know how long Hyun's been angsting over wanting to get into both your pants?" Kyungsoo chokes on his spit with Chanyeol in unison.

"Both our pants?" Chanyeol says, in mild disbelief.

"Angsting?" Kyungsoo mutters.

Baekhyun looks at Jongdae, wide-eyed, his string actually stopping its noise. "Wait, you _knew_ -"

"Baekhyunnie, I'm _empathic_ , remember," Jongdae says, raising an eyebrow at him, his string belying his heightened emotions with its joyous melody. "Honestly." He straightens up and kicks Baekhyun in one fluid motion. "Go on, go kiss 'em already, stupid!"

"You have free reign to smooch," Kyungsoo calls, grin growing unbidden on his face. Chanyeol muffles a hysterical giggle into his hair.

Baekhyun just stares for a full moment, with the expression of a man whose jigsaw puzzle of a worldview is currently being pieced back together. "I fucking love you," he breathes, then scrambles to his feet, does a socked dash-slide across the wooden flooring, and proceeds to trip the last two feet into Kyungsoo and Chanyeol's general space, where they catch him in their combined embrace.

"I can't believe this talk went down this easy," Chanyeol says, faintly, before Baekhyun's all up in his face and then they're kissing in a very pleasing sight, like hungry puppies, sloppy and eager and overwhelmed with emotion. The flash of Baekhyun's teeth catching on Chanyeol's lip - Kyungsoo lets out a noise of delight as Chanyeol makes that familiar punched-out groan, and takes the opportunity to wind an arm around Baekhyun's waist, finding a nice little handle of flesh to hold as they go at it, content to watch and bask in the glow.

Jongdae ambles over, languid, grinning in prime cat-meet-canary manner as he slides over to Kyungsoo, eyes flickering red and flicking back and forth between the three, never settling. "Chanyeol, we turned into the fucking Horsemen of the Apocalypse for a whole summer," Jongdae says simply, tucking himself nicely into Kyungsoo's side.

Kyungsoo has to resist the urge to swoon like a loser when that sunny smile meets the curve of his ear, and then his neck, and then his mouth, easy and brimming with charm. The mushrooms and tomatoes and spring onions are probably burning, but that can be left for later, when Kyungsoo hasn't got the whole world in his arms, when four strings aren't entwining and chiming in messy, euphoric harmony. Jongdae hums. "This is far from the weirdest thing to happen in our lives."

 

 

 

 -

 

 

 

 

 

 

Backtrack. Rewind. Reel the tape back, over the revolutions of the Earth on its endless orbit round its Sun, to a diner in a town in the middle of nowhere.

The hours after the unceremonious end of the Apocalypse-that-Never-Was are somehow the most surreal of that whole summer. Even after weeks of walking around with a Biblical spirit in his head, his body and actions and thoughts eldritch and disjointed as he wrought Old Testament-esque ruin and suffering to place after place after place - even after all of that, this. Sitting in a diner booth in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, Oregon, next to three other Horsemen, with the Antichrist up at the counter ordering pancakes and waffles. This is peak surreality.

“So how sure are we that all of that just happened,” pipes up the tallest one of them, with an Australian twang to his deep tone and a hunch to the set of his shoulders. “Cause I wanna know my odds for just repressing this entire experience.” Pestilence - no, Pestilence’s host, War knows. He’s just been referring to them with the names of their Horsemen in his head since they woke up. None of them have exchanged names yet, having dragged themselves from the fields that almost saw the world’s end to eat.

“Having a shared bad trip for two months straight seems a little unlikely,” the one comments, thick glasses perched on his nose, the embers of Death’s light still flickering in his wide dark eyes. “But we could make a pact to never talk about this again if that makes you feel better.”

“Verbal NDAs,” croaks Famine sitting next to him, looking halfway to becoming the very embodiment of his Horseman. “Not what I thought I’d be doing when the apocalypse came. Or y’know, got cancelled.”

The raw emptiness inside his head stings with the echoes of hooves and gunfire, battle cries and blood rising up at the words. “We’re all gonna need so much therapy,” War says, dryly. That gets tired laughter from the whole table, deep orange. Solidarity in suffering.

“Therapy later. Pancakes first.” Death deadpans. “Don’t know bout the rest of you, but almost causing the end of the world has left me fucking hungry.”

“Fuckin’ same. Hungry and tired.” Pestilence frowns, squinting vaguely. “Hired? Tingry? You know, this doesn’t gel as good as hangry, we’re gonna need to come up with a better word. Tungry?”

“That just sounds like a small isolated European country,” Famine says, shaking his head. “How ‘bout….Tirngry.”

“That sounds like a Game of Thrones character,” Death says. “Obviously, the right word is hungred.”

There’s a warm bubble rising and swelling in Jongdae’s chest. “You’re all wrong. _Thungred._ ” The small chorus of disagreeing groans hits his ears like a symphony, and it’s all he can do to not laugh like a hyena.

“What’s the last thing you all remember before getting hijacked?” Famine asks the table. “I’m fairly certain I was walking back home with groceries.” His eyes glaze over for a moment, brows knotting together. “I think Famine actually remembered to feed my dog, which is. Uh.”

“Ironic,” War finishes for him. “I was out with friends, I think…..” he stops mid-sentence, because fuck, his friends. His friends. He disappeared out the backroom mid-karaoke session, god, they probably called the _cops_ looking for him. His _parents._

From the look on Pestilence’s face, he’s coming to a similar terrible conclusion. “I was in my room jamming before dinner.... Fuck, Mum’s probably losing her mind,” Pestilence says, panic creeping into his tone, acid-green. “I’m gonna be grounded for life when I get back.”

“Big mood,” Famine says with amusement. Then he visibly freezes and trails off, looking down, growing horror dawning on his face, tone getting rough as he curses in Korean that War’s only heard spilling from his mum’s angry lips. “Aw fuck, they probably all think we’re dead, don’t they.”

“I was on the bus back home,“ Death’s words are muffled through his hands, pressed against his face. “Do any of us have like, handy memory powers. Can we go talk the Antichrist or the angels into doing a nice mindwipe or something? I do not want to have to come up with a lie to explain this shit to my dad.”

“It’sh _Yishing_ ,” the Antichrist calls from the counter, garbled through a mouthful of waffle. His boyfriend - Han, War thinks? - sitting next to him, snorts at his expression, pulling a face one can only describe as disgustingly loving. Said abomination swallows and continues. “And I can do that for you, I just have to meet ‘em first.”

“Well my mum’d have a heart attack if she met the Son of Satan so that’s a no go,” Pestilence says, expression a Neapolitan mix of hysterics, utter calm, and yearning for the void.

“I’m not actually the Son of Satan, I’m perfectly human, so she’s got nothing to fear,” Yixing says, beaming.

Pestilence gives him a mildly incredulous look. “I mean, good to know, but your presence on this Earth nearly caused the end of the world, man, I think we still have more pressing issues here.”

“She doesn’t have to know,” Famine says, humour in his tone. “What’s worse, mom having a heart attack because your son disappeared for the entire summer because he got possessed by a Horseman of the Apocalypse, or mom being chill and memory-wiped and meeting the Antichrist?”

“You know, both of those sound equally terrible, so that’s a hard choice!” Pestilence says, brightly.

“Or the third option,” Death drawls. “You tell your mom and she thinks you’re crazy.”

“That also sounds very bad!” Pestilence continues. “Option four, I tell her and she loves and accepts me for who I am?”

“Unrealistic,” Death deadpans. “Have terrible parents like the rest of us. Yixing, I’m open to that offer if you’re willing to take a trip up to Toronto.” He pronounces the name like _‘Torron’oh’_ , tongue dancing over the second ‘t’ like a kid skipping down over the last few steps.

“Sure,” Yixing says, cheerily. “Just say whenever, I’ll be down. I’ll pass you all my number later.”

“Having the Antichrist on speed dial,” Famine says, the look in his eyes of a boy definitely trying his damndest not to dissociate into the next dimension. “For the express purpose of Men-in-Black’ing my parents. This is really where my life is at right now.”

“I mean, you could have him on speed dial for ending the world purposes, could be worse,” War says wearily.

With great timing, the waitress comes in a swish of skirts out from the back with a tray full of pancakes, the aroma wafting over thick and sweet, the pancakes golden brown and fluffy and in stacks of goodness, topped with all manner of berry and condiment, looking like a two page spread in some gourmet cooking magazine. There’s drool pooling in his mouth from the sight, his hands twitching as he struggles to not rip into his plate like a heathen.

Pestilence and Death have no such qualms, and with manic efficiency arm themselves with fork and knife, exchanging the maple syrup and honey bottle between each other to drizzle on their pancakes, and jump straight in like starved wolves. War takes their cue to follow suit, albeit with less vigour. Maybe it’s the hunger talking, but right now, the pancakes are the best fucking thing he’s ever tasted in his life, and in what seems like moments half his plate is vanished. He leans back, takes a breath, exults in the lingering sweetness and the warmth in his belly.

The plate next to him is still sitting untouched, delectable and tantalizing and growing colder by the second. War turns and looks. Famine fidgets in his spot, picking at the scuff marks on the linoleum, very carefully breathing through his mouth.

“You….you alright?” He’s very obviously not. War hasn’t seen a green that close to puce before.

“I thought I could eat earlier but. I’m.” Famine’s host swallows audibly, expression hollowed out. “Don’t know if I can stomach anything right now.”

“Just have a little bit,” Death coaxes. “You look like death warmed over. I should know.”

“Wow, we’re making jokes about our trauma already, this bodes well,” Pestilence quips, before his tone turns more sympathetic. “We can get the pancakes to go if you’re not feeling it, dude.”

“I-” Famine’s host exhales, shoulders shaking a little. “No, I’ll eat a little, just give me a minute. Gotta work up to it, y’know? First meal post-un-apocalypse, it’s special.”

“True, true. Even if it wasn’t this occasion making ‘em so good, these pancakes are still fucking fantastic,” Pestilence nods. “I’m not one to Foodstagram, but for these - wait, fuck, my phone!” he cries out suddenly, that morphs into a yell.

Death pats him on the back. “Did your Horseman lose it.”

“Worse,” Pestilence moans, plucking it out of his pocket and looking mournfully at the flickering, cracked screen. “I think they used it.”

“Horrifying,” Death says wryly. “The worst plague of all, butterfingers.”

Pestilence shoots him a betrayed look. War and Famine both snicker, and the puce gradually shifts into a shade a bit more healthily green.

“Maybe if you ask Yixing nicely enough, he could whip up some way of fixing it,” War suggests, and Pestilence perks up, hope sparking, before he looks over and melts back down. They all turn over to the counter, where the Antichrist is making out with his boyfriend like a giggly, twitterpated teenager, murmuring low and dirty and sickeningly Pepto-Bismol pink, feeding each other bits of pancake in between kisses and getting syrup everywhere. If they weren’t the only ones in this diner War would be afraid the staff would kick them out, with the level of Public Disgusting Affection on display.

Pestilence has an expression on his face one would have when looking at videos of small adorable animals, as does Famine, and even Death a little. “Aw, I’ll just ask later. They’re really cute.” From what War can parse with his shitty Mandarin, they’re actually _really_ not, but he’ll let them all live in their blissful ignorance.

“Actually, I never got any of your names,” Famine looks around the table. “In fact, I don’t think any of us have even mentioned ‘em, and I’ve kinda just been calling everyone by their Horsemen, which is pretty sucky.” War has to stifle a noise of camaraderie. “Anyways, hi, I’m Byun Baekhyun. Or Baekhyun Byun here, I guess. _God_ that really does feel good to say.” He sighs, breath practically stained a vivid deep blue with catharsis.

“So, uh, if y’all are okay with sharing your names with strangers-and-comrades-in-weirdness, how ‘bout we start wiiiiith-” he does a little cycle motion with his hands, imitating a bottle spinning, and whips out his hand at the boy directly opposite him. “Lucky contestant number _one.”_

“Chanyeol Park, nice to meet you.” Pestilence’s host says, cracking a smile. “Fuck, y’know that’s the first time I’ve said my own name all summer? Feels good.”

“Do Kyungsoo,” Death’s host says, softly. “Same here.”

”And you?” Fa - _Baekhyun_ turns to his right, looks him in the eyes. His sclera are bloodshot with fatigue, but the irises shimmer, blown wide and blacker than an oil spill, the shadows beneath only adding to the eerie image. “Hey, man, you okay?”

“S-sorry.” War’s host blinks, shaking his head, forcefully tearing himself away from that stare. Licks his lips, words gradually feeling less alien on his tongue as he draws them forth. “Mateo Jongdae Kim.” He says, finally. “But just call me Jongdae.”

Baekhyun looks over at all of them, and laughs, the fullest and brightest sound he’s made since they woke up, his mirth the colour of clementines. “The Four Horsemen, and we’re all teenage Korean boys. The K-pop band of the Apocalypse.”

There’s conversation afterwards, but frankly, looking back on it, Jongdae doesn’t remember most of it, tangents and banter blurring into one big sepia-filtered kaleidoscope. What sticks out in his memory most clearly is this: the aftertaste of berries and maple syrup sticking to his tongue, the sun rising out the window over the mountains in the distance, synths and a steady beat and a honeyed tinny voice crooning on the radio. Three boys with shadowed eyes and shaking hands and tender smiles. The thought that maybe, even after everything, this summer hadn’t been a total disaster after all.

**Author's Note:**

>  **jokes i'm disappointed i couldn't fit in:**  
>   
>  \- the apocalypse doing more for asian rep than crazy rich asians  
> \- bbh: i have the power of god [grabs jongdae] and anime [grabs kyungsoo] and furry [grabs chanyeol]  
> \- ksoo: why are you awake rn  
> pcy: just had prolific nightmares about people puking out their guts but hey more importantly, check out this orb spider,  
> \- is he y'know [t-poses] christian  
> \- someone asking yixing to turn water to wine as a joke and then yixing actually doing it  
> \- celebrating easter as zombie jesus day and declaring yixing's birthday as New Christmas  
> \- The Beagles Introduce Death To Social Media  
> \- that scene from enchanted where giselle's cleaning the apartment with her summoned rat and cockroach friends except it's pcy and his army of creepy crawly babies and it's so much worse  
> \- zyx, barging in to the in-progress ending of the world: no what are you all doing you imbeciles. what on earth made you think i wanted this you absolute buffoons i have a boyfriend and a degree to finish. [waves hands, skies clear, demons banished] Apocalypse Machine™ B roke, Have A Nice Continued Existence Everyone
> 
>  **other notes:**  
>   
>  \- the power rangers joke is because of the traditional associated weapons the four horsemen carry. war has a sword, pestilence has a bow, death has a sickle and famine.....has a set of scales. you could theoretically bludgeon someone over the head with that i guess  
>   
> \- rosemary's baby and good omens are both works of fiction which have depictions of the antichrist, on very far ends of the scale. in rosemary's baby the antichrist is the actual son of satan resulting from extremely non-con demon sex and the orchestrations of a satanic cult. in good omens, the antichrist is still the son of satan but was brought up a normal british schoolboy with reality-bending powers, and casually stops the apocalypse so he can continue leading a normal life. you can see which version yixing leans more towards  
>   
> \- their powers are pretty vaguely defined, esp on chanyeol's and baekhyun's ends bc like. how exactly do you box in the concept of plague and famine. baek could probably cause food to degrade and rot + livestock to die + induce malnutrition in ppl but he's got far too many issues w his horseman to even consider trying that. there's loads of little stuff w their powers i would've loved to poke at given more time but alas,
> 
> \- it's never specified which city or even which country they're in exactly but it's probably on the west coast of the usa. jongdae's a 2nd gen immigrant from london (and yes he did have a career for some time as a budding child musical actor), kyungsoo's 3rd gen and toronto-born, chanyeol's 1st gen who grew up in sydney, and baekhyun lived in los angeles up till middle school upon which his family moved back to busan, which he is eternally lowkey bitter about. his korean is the best of the bunch  
>   
> \- apologies @ people who don't like bugs and apologies @ all of chanyeol's bug children i could not spend more time on you but just know that chanyeol loves all of his adorable bug babies to pieces and when he has to feed the normie cockroaches to the other bugs it makes him very sad. less so when its the mealworms. and yes all of them are named after famous composers/musicians. i had to stick to the PCY Brand
> 
> \- once they all get properly into the ot4 theres a lot of bed swapping and a bit of bed breaking and eventually they just get spare mattresses for the express purpose of putting on the living room floor so they can all pile together and sleep on nights they feel like cuddlepiling. they're still not sure exactly how they're going to explain this to the family but really, who cares,
> 
> \- fun alcohol poisoning game take a shot every time someone says big mood in this fic. even more fun liver failure game take a shot every time someone makes a meme reference
> 
> \- s-sorry if the ptsd/eating disorder stuff came through bad.....please do comment and tell me if there's anything particularly inaccurate or bad or triggering 
> 
> \- i wanted to write about coping with trauma but instead wrote a fuckton of dumb jokes and a lot of gay feelings which really says a lot abt how i cope with my own issues lmaooooooo
> 
> come get to know me [here](https://dragonairily.carrd.co/) or just watch me yell incoherently about chansoo [here](https://twitter.com/dragonairily)


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